


Wish I'd Known You Then

by mattepinkallshades



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Body Positivity, Colorado, Comfort Sex, F/F, Families of Choice, Fluff and Smut, Internalized Homophobia, Light daddy kink, Military Backstory, New York, Slow Burn, equestrian lesbians, they're both in their late 30s yes gawd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-06-23 07:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 89,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15601689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattepinkallshades/pseuds/mattepinkallshades
Summary: Katya has to leave a brutal emotional wreckage behind and hide out in a vacant country house in the East End of Long Island, NY for the summer. Desperate for distraction she finds a stable full of queers in a nasty little Republican town.And one of them is a big bossy blonde who runs hot and cold with a love for horses, little patience for people, and her own peculiar past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are being edited gradually. This story got so much bigger than I originally planned and I’m really loving it :)

In the back of her mind, Katya knows Manhattan, “the city”, is over her.

It demands that someone her age can pretend to like at least one scene. Art scene, fashion scene, workaholic scene, hookup scene, food-and-travel scene, married scene, parent scene. _Just pick one and stick it out, nobody loves it_ , the indifferent island mumbles through smoldering trash and jackhammers at anyone who doesn’t get why they’re still trying to make it there.

For a three-ish month escape to a big empty house, Katya’s packing just the necessities: her year round black uniform of flowy tank tops, skinny pants, bralettes, cotton boy shorts (lace would be nice but only cotton will do, she needs a sweat sponge and won’t apologize for it), ankle boots; her matte red lipstick--same red as the red scrunchie in _Heathers_ ; black mascara and kohl eyeliner; vibrators; iPhone; laptop; and chargers for all the aforementioned devices.  

Everything else stays put in her apartment on the LES. If after a few months she decides to tell that bitch to fuck right off—leave the city for the country for good—she’d rather enjoy a peaceful summer with minimal baggage first anyway. Once fall comes she can return to the big apple only to leave it again choking in the exhaust of a U-Haul. Which she won't drive herself because she hasn’t even owned a car before, only just signed the lease on a shiny new black Wrangler so she’d have something to drive around out east. City girls don’t tend to gain much driving confidence unless they absolutely have to. But she will tip the U-Haul generously.

Right before leaving, Katya reconsiders and once again decides against getting her old blonde highlights redone. It’s been two years without them. Her mother occasionally prods her to have them redone as a “boost”, reminding her how they “brighten” Katya's face in her attempts to be oblique. Her point being that she looks flat and depressed. More importantly, that her mom can’t handle her looking flat, depressed.

Katya doesn’t argue back anymore because her therapist--her own therapist, as opposed the couples therapist Katya was also seeing up until a year ago--finally got through to her that nothing can be gained by it.

Instead Katya dumps in a box of Feria “Deep Bronzed Brown” the night before she departs for her parents’ country house, just to shine up her natural brunette mane. It’s also well below Katya's shoulders for the first time since college, another consequence of leaving it unattended for so long. Her hair is easy to forget about if she wants because it's mostly straight, mostly smooth, though she knows the summer elements will inevitably make it a bit wilder.

\--

Standing in her old bedroom, Katya wonders why the relics in it weren't at least packed away when the other bedrooms and shared spaces like the living room, dining room, verandas, and kitchen were fully renovated over the years. Her room didn't need any fixing up since she was rarely there. But the decor is frozen in a cringey middle school moment from twenty-five years ago when Katya briefly entertained a Victorian lace fantasy which turned out more like a half-assed discolored doily collection.

That's when this country house was purchased, far out on the cluster of townships along the eastern end of Long Island. Starting when she was in middle school, her family spent most weekends out here while living full time in the city. Eventually Katya went off to boarding school and then college in New England. She’s barely seen the house since one of her school vacations. Even though she moved back to Manhattan ten years ago and was always more drawn to lush bucolic bliss than concrete jungle rot, the inconvenient three hour long trip out to the East End kept it just out of reach. 

Tracing a fussy patterned piece that hangs over the bedside lampshade, Katya struggles to remember what compelled her to drip white lace over her weekend bedroom at a time in her life when soft black leather and mesh were already consuming her aesthetic. Coming up empty, she senses the freeway in her mind stirring louder. Familiar intrusive sensations, the reasons she’s out here untethered from people she cares about, loves even, people who care about her.

One reason, a little Prius-sized reason buzzing by, is that she’s exhausted and bored professionally and needs a break.

The next, bulkier like a Forester, is her parents’ move west to California in January. They waited until after the holidays which Katya considered a gesture of pity towards her. The move was made to be closer to her younger brother’s wife and kids.

But the last in line is a big jump, the Mack truck deafening her each time it barrels through her. It’s the reason some people have changed their privacy settings so she can’t keep up with them, even though they still want her in their lives. Again. Someday, maybe.  

She’s here now. If nothing else there’s plenty to do out here that Katya can report back to friends, family and colleagues if she eventually resurfaces. If anyone asks her to. Lounge at the beach, do local wine tasting, cook for herself, shop at farmers’ markets, take up a hobby. All things that sound healthy and fulfilling.

\--

Five days after settling in, with no desire to sit on a beach fading her intricate full sleeve line work, drink with heterosexuals in fields, or cook for herself let alone with sporadically stocked farmers’ market ingredients, Katya admits she’s close to defeat.

She’s left with only the desire--scratch that, the _need_ \--for a hobby, preferably something physically demanding. Masturbating can’t seriously count. It wouldn’t burn off nearly enough energy even if she puts the toys away once in a while. Especially without even half her sex drive back since that final couples counseling session, the one Katya didn't know for sure would be the final one until after the fact. She _still_ feels bitterness that she’d been the one to pay for it, on principle not affordability. Like it was entrapment. The fact that the therapist had accepted payment via Square on her iPhone now made comedy of the tragedy, at least …

In the process of giving up on the other activities that were supposed to occupy her time and her mind, daily drives become a placeholder hobby. Once she can unclench a little from not knowing her way around, Katya finds some soothing, meditative comfort in the process of looping around the winding roads, in and out of dense tree coverage. Since she was always the passenger growing up, Katya makes an effort to familiarize herself with the backroads now to avoid bottlenecks on the main streets as much as possible. Ironically avoiding bottlenecks entails quite a lot of getting lost and taking longer for her to get anywhere. But until she can find something better, whether it’s the sensation or the vigilance it requires, driving in her vacuum sealed cocoon blocks out the thoughts that intrude when she’s still.

As soon as she’s capable of noticing more than just the asphalt roads and yellow dashes that separate her from the occasional oncoming cars threatening to kill her, Katya spots a large blue wooden plaque along one of her frequented backroads posted outside a thickly hedged lane with wide metal double gates: “Marigold Stables”.

Sounds overly enchanting, like something out of _My Little Pony_. Especially so for someone still washing the last layer of city residue from her hair. Passing by Marigold Stables becomes part of Katya’s daily routine though it's impossible to see past the tall hedges.

One late evening though, it's just light enough to see silhouettes of busy activity just outside the gates. Two figures work to open them into the long path leading back to the property. One is a shapely nymph struggling with her side of the gate, the other one shorter but stronger, or at least faster at opening hers.

A third figure--tall with a thick, fluffy blonde ponytail tied high up, so long it hangs down between her shoulders--stands ready to guide a horse trailer through the gate as it opens. When Katya glances back in her rearview mirror to get another look the tall blonde is shaking her head either in frustration or amusement, pumping her hand back and forth in the air at the nymph who scurries in response.

The whole scene conjures up Katya's wistful meanderings about all the things people actually choose to do with their lives, assuming they get a choice and follow through with it. By contrast her career is built off a series of choices not made, opportunities stumbled into and acquiesced, and a skill set not applied to anything she cares about. She’s always had an abundant excess of physical energy and wonders if her body burns her mental resources as a transmutation of her unmet physical needs. Or some such shit which makes sense to her, whether she could make it make sense to someone else or not.

The scene also conjures memories of some of Katya’s happiest years, away from her family and away from the city way back when she was at boarding school. There she’d thrived in a holistic riding and horse care program where she groomed and tacked the horse she rode as well as collected and turned them out. She had to muck stalls, feed and water the horses, and learn to recognize basic signs of injury or illness to report them to staff. There she felt the a community bond that she never really replicated, whether because of her vulnerable age at the time or because it was just that magical. Horsemanship itself wasn’t even the best part of it, but it was all amazingly effective at tiring her out. And her schoolwork squared up because she felt calm and focused, well enough for her to get into a decent college to her parents’ relief.

Boarding school and its horse program had been the fix after Katya bombed out of private day school in the city. And wasted two years in stuffy, dry private lessons that she hated at “Hamilton Equestrian Center” every weekend out in the East End which is what the other rich girls who liked horses enjoyed.

It feels childish, Katya thinks--though she attempts to revise that more kindly to “nostalgic”--to yearn for a fantasy she once enjoyed. Even if it wasn't just a fantasy, it _was_ something temporary that she’d thrown away rather suddenly. Katya quit the program soon after one of her school friends became her first girlfriend senior year. A slinky girl named Alaska who wanted to hold hands at the movie theater in town, grope in the library, and eventually grind maddeningly slowly into the crotch of Katya’s black velvet leggings with her hand down the back of them. Sadly she wasn’t as keen to meet out by the pasture or rub up against each other among the saddles and crops in the tack room, alluring as Katya argued it could be.

Self-attacks aside, Katya decides to give riding lessons a fresh start. A sufficiently plausible, structured activity that’s specific and intimidating enough to keep her attention. Physical, outdoors. Potential for some easy chit chat with relatively low obligation people she would have to see there on the regular, perhaps even a local friend she could name when she lies awake wondering if anyone is aware of her daily comings and goings.

And either what she glimpsed on that road were a few grown up horse gals having a laugh together or the tall blonde is a bossy, hard to please bitch with minions scrambling to please her. Katya isn’t sure which scenario she’s hoping to discover.

\--

“Can I show you an actual adult taking a lesson as we speak?” offers Ginger, gesturing for Katya to follow her out of the office. Katya called in that morning to inquire about lessons and asked to stop by to get a feel for the place before she commits. She tells Ginger her main concern is signing up for “romper room fuckery” where she's she big kid among little kids. What Katya doesn't say is that she can’t stomach being asked which kid is hers.

She follows the short, fierce woman she recognized immediately from the other night and they head past one small outdoor arena being dragged. The driver in the small lawnmower-looking vehicle pulling the drag bar has a trucker hat over short bright blonde hair sticking out at all angles and a garish tie dyed tank top with the arms cut nearly all the way in.

“You’ve turned too soon, come ‘round and take it again. Don’t let him rush.” The voice belongs to a prim strawberry blonde standing in a faint cloud of dust in the middle of the second small arena. She's clad in black riding boots, grey breeches and a pale blue blouse. Too poised to be the skittish nymph Katya had seen last week. Far too petite to be the boss. So many blonde varieties.

As Katya and Ginger approach, Katya notices stains on the knees of the petite’s breeches. Her otherwise neat ponytail is sweating around her dark roots. Katya exhales slightly at the signs of humanity.

“That’s Courtney in the middle, originally from Australia if you didn’t catch the accent. Brenda is riding her own horse who boards here, and while I won’t reveal her age I can assure you she graduated high school even before we did.” Ginger points back and forth between herself and Katya.

“Oh, is it obvious I came of age before anyone realized teens were cybering with sex predators?” Katya replies. Ginger pauses and stares as Katya waits to breathe.

“Yeah, and which were you?” Ginger shoots back. Katya's hands shake with trapped laughter. “You’re some kinda wrong,” Ginger continues, “I don’t know if you’re fit to be around horses.” Katya finally cackles, loud and deep. The women in the ring turn at the disruption. “Alright, let’s move the show along.”

Ginger shows Katya around the expansive grounds. Two small riding arenas, one larger to accommodate group lessons or a jumping course. Fenced paddocks all the way back to the trees. A big red barn with stalls for horses owned or boarded by Marigold. Splintered posts, scratched buckets, rusty steel tubs, leaky hoses. Luscious, sloping and sunny and dirty and smelly all at the same time.

It feels much like the stables at Katya's boarding school but also channels the heavily queer-coded _Horse Crazy_ book series she was obsessed with in elementary school. She hasn’t thought about those wretched but unintentionally glorious books in decades and wonders if they're stored somewhere back at the house where most of the family’s outgrown ephemera ended up. Katya pored over them well before she started riding horses, back when her best friend at the time traded her set for Katya’s tattered Sweet Valley Twins collection. That’s where her pre-adolescent interest in horses and the people around them had begun, with its weird stew of vaguely dykey characters all cooped up together for a whole summer at a horse camp.

“So what do you think?”

“It's beautiful. I took lessons at a place called Hamilton--”

 “Oh Lord, Alyssa’s palace” Ginger grumbles with a deep eye roll.

 “No no! I hated it. This place is what I would have loved, so let's do it. I really need t--” Katya stammers, “--to get back into something while I have a chunk of free time. When can I start?”

 On their way back to the office they cross paths with Courtney who walks alongside the woman--Brenda? Barbara?--she'd been instructing as they take the horse back to the barn to untack.

“Ginger, can you ask Farrah to bring a lead in for Brenda to borrow? Her pretty one spent the night in Randy’s stall and soaked in piss overnight, probably because Farrah’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

Ginger chuckles. “I will but you know she's dying to ride into Riverhead with Trixie, she might cry if you make her miss it.”

“She might cry if I knee her in the cunt.”

“Are you gay?” Katya blurts out, pointing fingers all around. “I always like to know if a girl is gay.”

Ginger busts up laughing while Courtney pulls a wide-eyed tight smile and turns away, tugging the very anxious and disturbed looking Brenda back towards the barn.

“Pace yourself, Katya,” is Ginger’s reply.

\--

Back in the office, Ginger struggles with the appointment booking system as she tries to select times and an instructor for Katya. She appears to be the administrative glue of the place as well as an instructor herself. Physically shorter than Katya, coppery bobbed haircut. Quietly stormy. Tense. Tired. And she hadn’t flinched at any of the shots Katya fired before noon on a Tuesday.

“This piece of shit …” Katya waits a few more seconds before glancing over at the screen. Just as she thought, trash. Or rather an out of the box solution that this poor woman or her predecessor probably had to set up themselves after being promised it was so simple.

“I can’t make any promises but I’m familiar with these pieces of shit, if you want I can take a peek?”

“Be my guest,” Ginger grumbles without looking up from the screen. Katya leans in and hovers over the mouse waiting for Ginger to relinquish it. She doesn’t have her glasses with her and the screen combined with the late morning glare coming in through the window quickly starts to bother her eyes. But she fiddles with a setting and several blocks on the calendar open up.

“God damn. Every time.”

“It's okay, I hear that a lot. When I’m working, I mean. A really basic rule could do that for you, change it on a daily basis even,” Katya chirps in her CRM consultant drag voice.

“Not my job, girl!” Ginger chuckles. 

“I hear that a lot too!”

As she nods assurances at Ginger, her grubby work skin slinking on too easily, the office door in front of them opens with a rattle and clack of the cheap plastic blinds. It doesn’t stir Ginger but startles Katya whose eyes dart up and sparkle pale blue.

The bossy blonde is standing a few feet in front of her, staring back at Katya still bent in front of Ginger’s computer. Katya is suddenly aware and very, very grateful for the exposure her silky racerback tank top affords her. Just in case a first impression is worth something down the line.

“Heading out Ging, I’ll text you when I'm on the way back.” Her voice is so specific. Deep and airy at the same time. It vibrates in the room.

After Ginger nods without looking from the computer, the tall blonde stands looking down at Katya. Her hair is up in the same high ponytail, a rolled bandanna tied around as a headband. Sleeveless lavender buffalo plaid shirt, high waisted jeans showing off rudely long legs that make her _almost_ too tall for Katya to reach eye contact at the distance and position she's in, still leaning over Ginger's desk.

Ginger clicks to select an instructor after selecting an appointment and Katya glances down, blinking for the first time since the door had opened.

“Beatrice?!” Katya reads in disbelief from the list of staff names that pops up on the calendar. “Oh please tell me ‘Beatrice’ is available, that’s precious,” Katya cackles.

“Who are you?” the still unnamed bossy blonde interjects.

Katya looks back up slowly, flashes her most charming genetically gifted smile. “Oh I’m just … Katya. I’m starting lessons here. And helping Ginger with something, just on a whim.”

Silence. Katya’s hips wag behind her as she mentally tabulates the stones in her buckets.

“Okay,” is her reply after she’s already halfway out the door. With that, Katya’s hips still.

“Is Farrah with you?” Ginger yells after her. No response. Ginger snickers knowingly. “Weeeeellllll, you just met Trixie, aka Beatrice. How to put this … it isn't hard to rub her the wrong way and you just ran her over head to toe with steel wool. But luckily she’s not an instructor, she’s the owner so you still have all your options open."

Katya's buckets drop and the stones scatter. Her name is Trixie. She’s the owner and she’s sensitive. One of the things Trixie’s sensitive about is her full name. Which Katya made fun of and laughed at within 120 seconds of barely meeting her.

“Actually this system has all these people on the list who aren’t instructors,” Ginger resumes, ignoring Katya’s slack jawed stare into space, “and it makes scheduling such a pain because it was supposed to shut down time slots when all the instructors were booked. Anyway, it’s bullshit.”

“I can probably fix some of this. I mean, this is what I do.” Katya schemes quickly, not sure what she’s trying to patch back together. Making an apologetic gesture for someone she doesn’t give a shit about when there is a person in her real life she gives a lot of shits about, someone she could never… and then that Mack truck is roaring through her ears again. 

“Katya?” Ginger prompts, signalling she’s taken leave of the conversation long enough to make it awkward.

“I don’t really want to deep dive because my brain is kind of hiatus right now. But maybe I can poke around and tweak a couple surface-y problems. Then I can make a list of recommendations and you can send it along to your developer, erhh, whoever you send big problems to to have bigger picture improvements made.”

Ginger lets her head sink into the palm of her hand as she leans her elbow on the desk looking up at Katya. Her eyes roll and feign exhaustion. “I suppose that would be weird and extremely kind and compassionate of you to do. Now what do you want, something legal?”

_Ohh nothing, I’m just groveling._

“Did Trixie leave??” A girl who Katya now knows must be “Farrah” ran in, breathless with her long shining bottle blond hair, lips full of fillers coated in pink diamond gloss, false lashes, a tight hot pink t shirt and white jodphurs. A useless look for working in manure and horse sweat, a perfect look for being zip tied into a plastic “Barnyard Skipper” package.

Ginger turns back to Katya and cocks her head in Farrah's direction. “How ‘bout I throw in some duct tape?”

\--

Katya marvels each time at the wide aisles and dizzying selection each time she visits a regular suburban grocery store. Back in the city, grocery stores tend to be cramped, dirty, and limited in their variety though paradoxically piled to the rafters with dusty products neither she nor a more average height person can hope to reach.

That night long after her lukewarm debut at Marigold Stables, Katya reaches on her tiptoes for a box of Softcups which are, universally in Katya's observation, kept on the top shelf whereas tampons and pads are accessible on every shelf of feminine products aisles. The box she needs is also pushed all the way to the back and she could only see it by hopping. Katya really doesn’t want to ask the pimpled teenage employee roaming the store for help so she tentatively tests the integrity of the first steel shelf to see if she could scramble her way up. It’s a practiced skill.

“Katya?” a woman’s husky voice calls from halfway down the aisle. _Honey over ice._ Katya sharply turns and lowers one foot from the bottom shelf like a child caught climbing the kitchen counter.  

“Ohhh … Trixie!” she grins, relieved to get the name out without drooling on the “x”. This is the first time she can actually see Trixie cast in full light, walking towards her. Her wild sun bleached hair is braided back now. Long days in the sun clearly lighten her eyebrows too, and her lashes are golden, long and plentiful. Her eyes are a warm brown above high round cheekbones, her lips the shape and color of a peach. She had light makeup on earlier, just mascara and maybe a tinted moisturizer, but now her face is bare and it’s stunning. Tanned skin with areas of pink and brown damage starting to show, the only sign giving away she could possibly be past her 20s. 

“Is this how busy city girls get in their rock climbing workouts after the gym closes?” Trixie taunts, extending a long finger from her grip around a shopping basket filled with a gallon of almond milk and a variety of frozen bags. Katya notes how her forearm flexes but holds steady under the weight of the basket handle. She finally fully descends from the shelf, facing Trixie head on, or at least from the chin up. Dammit for wearing flip flops instead of her little boots that give her another inch.

“How’d you know I was a busy city girl?” she grins, hoping to gain back some ground. 

“Ginger filled me in when I asked her to explain why a random in all black and red was working on her computer this morning.” 

“Red?” Katya laughs. The bralette she managed to sweat out halfway through the day had in fact been red. She just wants to trip Trixie up.

“Pretty sure this used to be red,” Trixie teases flatly, squinting to snap the exposed strap of Katya’s current black bra with the index finger of her free hand. Katya knows what she’ll be violently jerking off to in an hour. That and the dusty pink scoop neck tank top and light blue denim cut offs Trixie’s sporting late at night to shop alone for one very specific type of milk and sad frozen meals for one. 

“Do you need help reaching something up there?” Trixie eyes the top shelf.

_Oh right._ “Could you pull this whole shelf down on top of me and run?”  

Trixie shrieks a laugh so harsh it bounces sharply off the high ceilings of the mostly empty grocery store. Katya hasn’t stopped smiling but now her eyes widen in something between delight and delirium. 

“That one, the Softcups, they’re always way up high and I can never reach.” 

Trixie reaches barely above shoulder height and grabs two boxes of them. “In case I or another adult isn't nearby next time,” she smirks. Katya’s brain overloads with possible comebacks but realizes she might accidentally end up inside Trixie mid-sentence if she keeps going. 

“Thank you!” Blink. Blink. “I’m going to check out, guess I’ll see you soon.”

Only one register is open and the line is backed up several people. _Please either let her walk right up behind me so I can try chatting her up again, or let ten people line up behind me so it's easy to ignore her._  

In the process of worrying which it will be, Katya stands so vigilant she doesn’t notice Trixie walk right up behind her from the other side, startling as she nearly whacks her forehead into Trixie’s chin. 

“Calm down, I don’t have any more bullshit to talk with you about, either,” Trixie giggles as she backs away. Katya wheezes and hacks a cough. 

“Don’t worry, that's just 25 years of smoke talking,” Katya chuckles, still raspy. Trixie’s face turns sour. “Oh listen mama, you might already know my preferred menstrual products but we are not close enough yet for you to judge my health.” 

“Fair enough,” Trixie mumbles as she pulls out her phone, sounding like she’s growing weary of the interaction. Ginger sure was right. 

As her small number of items rings up, Katya notices the faint smile lingering on Trixie’s face. “By the way, this ‘random in red’--” 

“Just ‘random’, you made yourself sound a lot more alluring,” Trixie corrects, still on her phone, still vaguely smirking.

“--fine, this ‘random’ replaced the picklist value in your system so it doesn’t say ‘Beatrice’ any more,” Katya finishes, mouthing “Beatrice” quietly to make up for her faux pas that morning. She waits a beat, expecting some reaction on her conversation partner’s face. “Now it says ‘Trixie’.” 

Another beat. 

Trixie looks up. “Oh wow, that’s really nice of you.” Dry but verging on almost sincere. Almost. 

_Bitch?_ “But I didn’t do it for free, I got Farrah in the trunk of my car. Really should be getting us home now.”  

With that, Katya leaves Trixie goggling as she victoriously hops onto the back of her shopping cart and wheels smoothly towards the automatic exit doors. They open too late resulting in a loud metallic crash, a series of expletives, and Trixie’s screaming laughter all reflecting off the glass storefront surrounding them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katya quickly looks up Courtney, Willam, and Ginger. All show up, they are all real average citizens of this physical world, Katya hasn’t wandered into a wormhole, yet. But Trixie is intentionally, persistently not online in any obviously locatable way. With no breadcrumbs, she never has been, either.
> 
> She would love to text someone about this, to gauge how petty or substantial it really is. Any one of a few someones who would be able to talk some sense into her so her imagination doesn't give her an all night acid reflux flare. But she can't reach out. She's not ready. She doesn’t know if any of them would be ready for idle chit chat about a new woman she’s into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for talk about TTC.

_She keeps her thighs tight around Katya’s shoulders, refusing to spread wide for her or swallow the sides of her face. Katya won’t say anything about it. She’s glad she’ll even let her near her tonight. So she’ll just hurt through it, kneeling on their hardwood floor. Katya makes the most of it, puts extra effort into their moves refined over four years together. Moans in gratitude around her slippery inner lips, runs her finger tips along them before pushing them aside and burying her tongue._

_A sharp pain cries out under her left shoulder blade._

\--

Katya wakes up early on the morning of her first lesson and finds herself uncharacteristically clumsy. Scraping against door frames as she walks through them, banging into the edge of the kitchen counter, splashing excessive puddles of water onto the bathroom sink that soak the bottom of the tank top she’d already put on.

It’s a side effect of trying _not_ to obsess over how she’ll cross paths with Trixie today.

And a side effect of picking apart every little detail from their meet-cute last week. Like how Trixie ended up in that aisle in the first place when she didn’t have anything in her basket from that aisle nor did she pick up anything from that aisle. She must have recognized Katya and decided to go out of her way, or else she just saw some average to slightly-shorter-than-average height white lady with brown hair and thought “hmm, wonder if that’s anyone I barely know, let me get a closer look.” From the mixed interactions she’s had so far, Trixie seems more the type to dive into traffic if her best friend was waving at her and she didn’t feel like talking.

Oh, the bra thing. Trixie had obviously Terminator-scanned Katya and stored plenty of details that matter to her. Like what color bra she was wearing. Which to be fair was on display but, gay is gay and … snapping it? What is this, high school where Trixie’s the volleyball captain with a crush on ooky spooky Katya? Yes, please. That actually was sort of the case when Katya was in school but that volleyball captain was frightening and Katya wasn’t into her at all. Trixie though? Katya would have volunteered to be the floorboards she jumped on to practice her spikes.

If she was in touch with anyone right now she could have a blast hashing out all these nuances with them. Instead she bounces them around in her brain, a welcome new chatter competing with the less endearing, more well worn scripts. Katya lets herself replay and amplify the snapping sound throughout the day, especially in the shower and under the covers.

She can't keep this up; between masochistically replaying the last time she had sex and fetishizing her own bra strap, at this rate she’s going to wear a groove in her pubic bone. She hopes it's a sign her engines are just hacking up whatever's been choking them so she can feel normal again soon.

Prior to her lessons starting, Katya visited the tack shop in one of the nearby towns to get outfitted. Whether it was her period or feeling the first gush of sexual energy flow in ages, Katya couldn’t keep a straight face over the kinky sensory fantasy of all the gear that lined the walls and hangers and shelves. Leather, suede, fringe. Steel, rubber, mesh. Ropes, straps, laces. Buckles, zippers, hooks. Crops and bits …

It was too literal to even be sexualized, yet Katya knew the majority of customers just walk through here in their dad jeans and grandma applique blouses with no regard for the other plane of existence they're brushing against. Even herself standing there among them. They don’t know what she likes. And they don’t know what she’s done.

For her purposes she had learned they now make riding tights that are almost identical to yoga pants. Climate control in the crotch and the back of the knee and inner thigh too, very key for a sweaty rider. She chose everything in black and grey, pleased that it aligns with her regular aesthetic down to the riding boots. Katya enjoys her body and her sultry ashleisure style and doesn’t mind when others enjoy it, too.

Before leaving the house at a reasonable time to arrive at Marigold Stables not absurdly early, Katya puts on her full face. Smoky black eyeliner and matte red lips, neither of which she’s bothered with since being out here but she got inspired when she saw Courtney's chiseled flawless face. Not that flawless is Katya's brand.

\--

Pulling into the long driveway that leads to the stables, Katya fully, stupidly realizes she's actually going to have to get on a horse today and feels slightly giddy. She enjoyed it in her youth but never without fear. The fear was healthy, her mentors always assured her and she believed them.

Ginger is in the office and gives her a cheerful greeting. It warms Katya's heart to actually feel someone so glad to see her. She's running a bit early and asks Ginger how the appointment system is working.

“Marry me, Katya.”

“Really? I'm so happy I could make a difference.”

“You really did. You don't look it but you're a wizard.”

“No no Ginger, you're just really stupid.”

“Annulment,” Ginger declares with both hands slapped on her desk, pushing herself up to stand. Katya clutches her middle and wheezes. Her helmet hangs from her finger by it's buckled strap.

“All set there to work with Courtney?”

“Ooh, I get the Aussie,” Katya confirms with a shoulder wiggle as she follows Ginger out of the office. 

In the first small riding arena, holding a gray horse out on a lunge line and a long whip in the other, there stands Trixie. Katya gulps and her tongue starts to buzz instantly, one of her least favorite physical responses to seeing a new crush.

“Will it piss her off if we watch?” she asks Ginger, slowing them down on their walk.

“Watch her play cowgirl? Pull up a chair, she loves it. Just be quiet.”

Standing in front of the horse, Trixie taps it’s shoulder with the blunt end of it and points, expecting some behavior in return. The horse skitters in response, head tossed back. Even from her distance outside the fenced arena the energy terrifies Katya. Trixie notices them watching and doesn't react when Katya gives her a wide toothy smile. It doesn’t phase Katya at all, what with Trixie being focused on the lumbering half-ton of muscle on a leash that she’s poking a stick at. Party.

A few minutes later Ginger heads back to the office and Katya heads to the posts outside the barn as instructed to meet up with Courtney. She finds her waiting by a chestnut horse straight out of a picturebook, an awkward teenage barn hand--one of several Katya's seen who appear to work in some capacity at Marigold--a grooming kit and tack.

“Lesbo?” Courtney greets her.

Katya winces, covering her mouth with her fingertips. “I know, I overshoot when I get excited.”

“That sounds like a laundry problem.”

“I have a lot of those too!” Katya laughs, grateful for Courtney giving her a chance to come in a little less hot than she did the first time they met. Just then she looks over at the teen making a noble effort to ignore the conversation but at the same time finding the conversation very amusing. “Just remember,” Katya says directly to them, “whatever you think is the weirdest thing about yourself, I've got something weirder. You’ll never win.” That gets a hesitant but genuine smile from the teen as they glance up at her and then to Courtney.

“I'm sure she's right. You can run along, check in with Farrah.” Courtney chirps, sending the teen trotting off. “Okay, Jasper's already nicely brushed since you detoured to check out Trixie. So we can start saddling up, see how much you remember of the process.” She rolls the “r” in “process” just for fun and Katya notes how charming she is. And jewel-eyed. She’s fairly certain she hasn’t dropped acid since college but now, looking at and listening to Courtney, she’s a little concerned that the urban legends about flashbacks years later might be true.

All saddled up and ready to go, Katya is convinced Jasper is too large for her, despite Courtney’s kind assurances. “You’re taller than me and I can handle him, you can too if you quit whingin’!”

Thankfully once Katya gets moving, there are so many things to think about she can't think of anything she doesn't want to think about. She must think of her heels, knees, hips, head, shoulders. Soft hands. Around and around again in a chain, because as soon as she gets a few of them in line she drops the others and has to correct them. Her brain and body are in bliss.

—

It’s just early June but by the end of the session the sun is beating down hard and Katya is desperate to get her helmet off and take her hair out of it’s braid. They walk Jasper to the stall to untack and hose him down, holding him back from guzzling more water until he’s put out some of what he already took. Katya recalls that from school.

“I feel you, buddy,” Katya says as she runs the trickling hose across his back.

“Well you’re a natural, Katya, I will admit I didn’t expect it. You have a lovely form. However long it’s been since you last … had a ride?”

Katya coughs to hide a laugh at the raging advance Courtney’s made on her. It’s impressive.

“Thank you! So, what’s the story with the kids working here?”

“Oh,” Courtney squeaks out, eyes cast downward. That de-escalated quickly. “They all do equitation and also learn the whole lot from horse care through barn and property upkeep. It’s a pretty common model but Marigold is the only one this accessible so far east and Trixie took it over from Tammie Brown a couple years ago.” _Tammie Brown?_ “ _She_ is a real eccentric, wonderfully kind hearted, and _rich_.” Courtney emphasizes the last point.

“Most are just straight up horse nuts. But then there are always a few who backed in from another direction.” She lowers her voice when another rider secures their horse to tack up in the aisle. “It’s not great out here for kids who are different. People think of all the rich city folk,” Courtney gestures her head dramatically towards Katya who shrugs and accepts the truth, “and assume it's liberal. This town is red year round, unabashedly so with the current state of affairs.”

Jasper grunts while relieving himself just then and Courtney takes one step back while Katya leaps away from the flood, earning her a smug look of superiority. Courtney lets the horse back to his water trough and Katya shuts off the hose, drops it near the aisle entrance.

“Anyway, we always seem to have a couple of the community’s curious youth riding out their high school years with us. It’s actually quite a clever cover for them. The other raptors in the cage get a whiff that they're weird horse kids and move on.”

It's a moving story. Growing up with little concern for what would happen when she came out, Katya can only imagine what a relief this place is for a young person who does need to hide. It's a shame that it has to be clandestine in order for it to be safe.

“You were sweet to Chelsea earlier. She’s quiet.” They let Jasper back into his stall and exit the barn to harsh sunlight directly overhead.

“Uh yeah, I could tell she was both terrified and enthralled by our obscenities. I recall the internal conflict well, I always felt a strong kinship with batty older women. Of course back then ‘older’ was, you know, my age.”

Their lazy conversation is pierced by a screeching horse squeal and black hooves high in the air not ten feet away with Trixie partly crouched underneath. She shakes the lunge side to side like a snake, leans forward and the grey dappled horse drives backwards. She gives the line more slack, encouraging the animal to back away to a safe distance. Katya's heart is thumping and her irises are surrounded by white as she watches with no idea how commonplace this is or how it ends. Trixie stands off facing the horse and when it tries to come for her, she gives the line another shake. Then another. There's no tension on the line, no yelling, she's just making the horse calm down in its own space, away from her.

Seconds clunk by and Katya swears she can hear the dust particles moving in the air. It's when Trixie turns her back on the horse that Katya makes a sound by sucking in her breath reflexively. But the calmed horse walks with Trixie without incident. Trixie casts Katya a viperous side-eye glare as she and the horse walk together to the pasture on no tension.

“The fuck?” Katya exhales the second Trixie is out of earshot.

A man in overall shorts, work boots, and a purple crop top underneath jogs up and introduces himself. He's the one she saw on her first visit dragging the little riding arena. His flare is a comfort at the moment.

“Katya right? Willam. Shit, your tats are hot, you should cover them up in this sun though!”

Katya rubs over her burning shoulder and thanks him. Word of a city dyke covered in tattoos spreads fast in this little universe.  

Willam looks over Katya's shoulder and darts up his eyebrows with pursed lips. “I’ll catch up with you some other time mama, I'm supposed to look like I’m fixin’ a fence.”

Katya looks behind her and sees Trixie returning. She may have been amazingly effective at calming down the animal that scared the shit out of Katya but her fists are now clenched and her face is scanning for a target. And she finds one, stares down at it and points with a sharp finger and thick white knuckles.

“That hose. Why is it laying out on the ground?”

Katya looks down at the hose laying partway out of the barn, by her feet. “I dropped it there after cooling off Jasper?”

Trixie looks up and meets Katya’s eyes, flips the tapered, spiraling ends of her ponytail back over her shoulder where it had fallen forward on her furious stalk down the pasture hill. She then lifts her chin at Courtney and looks down her nose at her.

“Courtney: no hoses, no ropes, nothing that looks like a rope hanging around unattended while that horse is in our care. I told everyone the same thing, are you the one who needs things repeated or is that some other idiot?”

“I’m always a bigger idiot, in any context,” Katya interjects, raising her hand in front of Courtney's face before she thinks it might crack. She then falls back in line, hands folded in front of her, hip popped. She wants to fuck Trixie not work for her. 

Meanwhile, Courtney is a statue and Trixie’s eyes have scarcely flickered. “Fine.” As she turns and stomps her way back to the office, Katya appreciates how each round large ass cheek rocks up and down, the denim wedged between them a pair of dark blue palms parting them for her to stare at.

“I suppose you think you’ve earned a free ogle, after defending my honor,” comes the flinty, lilting voice just behind her. Her composure is impressive. And a little unnerving for Katya, honestly, who assumed Courtney would be at least a little shook up getting reamed like that.

“I would have shit myself if I were you. I think I did actually,” she grumbled, glancing behind herself.

“That?” Courtney chortles, smoothing the perfect line around her lipstick. “Her knickers are in a knot, she had to discharge it somehow. She takes her work seriously. That mare is here to be rehabilitated after being rescued. Trixie figured out that ropes or rope-y looking objects frighten her if she doesn't know what they're for.”

_Be still, my meaningless heart that does nothing good in this world._

“Well that's just … gross. Are you all up for sainthood?”

Courtney snorts. “Maybe if it gets me a discount on drugs and dildos.”

Katya wheezes and sends up a prayer on her behalf.

\--

Half a bottle of red wine that night makes Katya itch to pull the drawstrings of her old high school hooded sweatshirt tight around her face and accept she's a creep so she can stalk Trixie on social media in self loathing peace. One more sip and a double knot under her chin seals it and her fingers start to fly.

No clear matches come up for Trixie Mattel, beyond the Marigold website popping up at the top. She started with “Trixie” assuming her preferred name would work but then she tries her full name. Beatrice Mattel only turns up alumni results for an equine science school in Colorado which seems plausible.

It's more than a little disconcerting to find essentially nothing, not even a horrendous Facebook account with twelve friends, zoomed in pixelated photos, chock full of inspirational memes. Katya quickly looks up Courtney, Willam, and Ginger. All show up, they are all real average citizens of the physical world, Katya hasn’t wandered into a wormhole, yet. But Trixie is intentionally, persistently not online in any obviously locatable way. With no breadcrumbs, she never has been, either.

She would love to text someone about this, to gauge how petty or substantial it really is. Any one of a few someones who would be able to talk some sense into her so her imagination doesn't give her an all night acid reflux flare. But she can't reach out. She's not ready. She doesn’t know if any of them would be ready for idle chit chat about a new woman she’s into.

Her legs already ache in places she didn’t know she had muscles. Chalk it up with everything else she’s let go in the recent years. At least she can build her physical body back easily.

With nothing else to go on Katya digs through the Marigold website. The “About” section tells how Tammie Brown bought the property from an estate sale and moved from further west on the island to build out her dream. Courtney gave Katya just the barest description of who Tammie is and she certainly fits the bill. She’s a Bette Davis knockoff with red hair dye, done up in a tweed jacket with a turquoise silk scarf tucked in the neck, flared tan jodhpurs, knee high calfskin riding boots. This is not an old photo taken sixty years ago when this look could have passed under the radar. It was clearly take maybe in the last decade.

Below Tammie’s photo the story moves on to when Tammie transferred ownership over to the horse trainer/manager who had long ago been one of her riding students back in their nearby hometown: Beatrice “Trixie” Mattel. The bio confirmed the only other tidbit Katya had found, that Trixie did graduate with a degree in equine science from Colorado State University before moving back east.

There are two photos of Trixie: One is recent. It's not how she usually styles herself, at least not these days, but it's a beautiful photo where she looks genuinely happy. She's looking off camera draped over the back of a palomino horse, her face resting in one relaxed and--Katya gasps--long manicured hand, captured in an open mid-laugh smile. Her hair is down and curled, thick and long. Late afternoon light. Intoxicating. Or perhaps that’s a little of the wine talking. Katya wonders about the marketing strategy of the cleavage revealed through Trixie’s tissue thin ditsy flower print peasant top. It would have done its job on her had she not witnessed the beauty of those beasts first hand.

The other photo is black and white, perhaps from a yearbook or local newspaper clipping, Katya ponders: high school age Trixie with two thick braids, cheeks even rounder than they are now, eyes wide open and bright, teeth in a parted grin as she and the horse she’s riding clear a jump with a blur of people watching in the background. It's damn adorable.

Katya realizes her heart is pounding. Not about those pictures. They’re fun to see but they don’t interest her as much as she thinks they should. As much as she wants them to.

There were tons of Facebook and Instagram notifications when she first logged in. It's been long enough since she last checked them that if anything urgent had arisen someone would have actually contacted her, so it's not worth going through them. She clears them all just because she has the windows open on her laptop and phone.

It's not a good idea to try to “catch up”, not in the way she intends to. But she's going to do it some time and it's been … since Valentine's Day. Because that day she just had to find out if someone had a new profile picture with someone else smushed into it or a stupid Valentine's-themed sticker.

Katya already knows Kameron locked down her profile even though they're still “friends” on the surface. She can't see any updates or photos, even ones of them which she supposes might mean Kameron took them down, seeing as Katya was tagged in them. In the hierarchy of pain that question doesn't bother her enough to figure out an answer. Kameron did what she had to and Katya knows that. Everyone knows that. Everyone. That's the thing. They shouldn't have told everyone. Katya didn't want to and maybe that was the first sign and maybe Kameron should have known then. Not that Katya holds her responsible, at all.

A few of their mutual friends haven't walled off their shit from Katya so … she does something she would advise anyone not to do, would explain to them what a violation of boundaries it is and how self destructive it is.

Friend after friend and friends of friends, she scans all their recent photos for a new one that includes Kameron. One she won't have seen before. She just wants a reference point, something on the timeline after the last time they spoke ten months prior.

And she finds it. Kameron with her ripped muscular tattooed arms and long golden brown waves. Eating with their friends at some outdoor food market in the city, who gives a shit which one they're all the same poke cabbage lobster stuffed cookie bullshit.

Drinking a cocktail. She's drinking alcohol. They're all drinking the same thing, it's unlikely hers is a virgin.

She isn't surprised. It just would be such a huge fucking relief to find out that the smile on Kameron's face was pure, that she wasn't coping with an open wound Katya didn't have to make that might never close.

Instead, Kameron drinking a pretty summer cocktail with their friends some time in the last week confirms for Katya what she knew was likely true which is that Kameron is neither pregnant nor in the midst of trying to conceive.

Which they were trying to do together until a little over a year ago when Katya upended their Moses basket full of dreams.

Katya didn't just lie about what she wanted and break Kameron’s heart and destroy their relationship; she also slowly but surely pushed her finite clock forward and it can’t be wound back.

Because first she was too in love to say no she doesn't really want kids of her own and then she was too chicken shit to tell the truth when everyone else was in love with the idea of them trying to become cute tattooed lipstick dyke moms.

If all else is forgiven Kameron might still never have a kid like she deserves and that's the Mack truck that will blast its horn into Katya's conscience any hour of the day or night.

\--

_A sharp pain cries out under her left shoulder blade._

_This isn’t working. “This isn’t working, Kam.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“No, no! I’m just getting crushed like a beer can here. By these diesel powered thighs,” Katya giggles softly, dragging her teeth along the ripped inner muscles of Kameron’s thigh._

_“I knew,” Kameron confessed flatly. She always knew. And once they started trying, she knew it again that time Katya suggested they skip a cycle, so Kameron could “take a break”. And later on when the conversation shifted from IUI to IVF and Katya asked about doing a “freeze all” cycle and implanting the blasts in a couple years, she knew it even harder._

_It’s 11pm. And since 4am this morning--when after hours upon hours of circular negotiations she had finally accepted that Katya isn’t just scared, she truly. doesn’t. want. kids.--Kameron’s been in tears. Until twenty minutes ago when she decided to sit next to Katya on their beloved rich brown leather couch and let Katya make her feel good. “I knew.”_

_“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s all me.”_

_“I made an appointment with Dr. Davis. She’ll squeeze us in tomorrow.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was sad at the end. Poor Kameron. Poor Katya. Now that the bomb has been dropped it's not a constant ominous presence so please don't be turned off, but I brought it in because TTC and the fact that queer people often have to face longer timelines for when and how to have kids, if we want them, is relevant to my life. Blah blah. 
> 
> BUT, the next chapter is super FLERFY with a teensy glimpse of Trixie's perspective. And Jinkx! I adore Jinkx. 
> 
> Some time mid-next week :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both held onto the poles of the wire shelf, staring each other down. Katya’s tank was sweaty down the arms and between the shoulders and she could feel the red indents screaming under the waistband of her riding tights. She’d put her hair up in a ponytail earlier and took it out now, shook it loose around her shoulders with her fingers. Trixie’s head hung to the side as she shamelessly looked Katya up and down, her ponytail swinging, lips curved in the barest smile possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I occasionally take references from Whimsically Volatile. If you're a listener you might spot an Easter Egg here and there :)

By late June the East End buzzes full force with summer occupants on the roads and in all the shops making daily life more hectic than the locals would like. It’s a unifying complaint among the year rounders, though they all have to recognize that so much of their economy depends on summer traffic. Marigold peaks somewhat in summer but keeps steady clients year round, especially ones who need their horses boarded for long stretches in the winter. So it’s a bit easier to bitch about the impact of obnoxious seasonal visitors and that makes the staff very happy. 

Katya feels a sense of anthropological accomplishment when Ginger, Courtney, Willam, and even twinkly little Farrah talk shit freely in her presence. She can’t contribute since she's technically one of the city snobs, she’s not stupid. But they have placed her in a separate holding pen, apart from the other non-residents as well as the other clients. There are a few other stable staff. Straight stable staff. They're perfectly fine. As for Katya though, without the requirement to work with them, she has no use for them and she sticks to the queer corral. 

They've been very hospitable to her lingering a little while after her riding lessons. Hospitable in the sense that they don’t hesitate to rope her in and they give her no lenience just because she's a little tender. She wants to ask sometimes if they find it off that she doesn't have anywhere better to be, without implying she thinks it _is_ off. 

While helping Willam assemble a new shelving unit behind the cramped office late on a Tuesday afternoon, she throws out a line.

“I hope I'm being helpful here. I mean, my people are born with Metro shelving blueprints in our DNA but, you know.”

“We can never have enough dykes around, y’all get shit done. Courtney and Ginger are overloaded.”

It’s a good enough answer, but it sets off a tiny little anxiety bomb in Katya's head. Regardless she can't help wanting to leap out of her skin when Willam leaves out Trixie when he lists Courtney and Ginger. Not that she gives a shit about labels. Not that he was necessarily providing a comprehensive list, or that he would include his own boss when rattling it off casually. 

Since the awkward exchange between the two of them and Courtney, Katya hasn't talked to Trixie. She doesn't _not_ talk to her, but they don't have much occasion for it. Katya doesn't own a horse there, Trixie doesn't instruct.

When circumstance allows, Katya will stand by the arena and watch Trixie work with a horse alongside at least two or three other people including the client. Ginger was right, people like to watch Trixie and she doesn’t seem to mind an audience. Katya thinks she catches Trixie smirking when she spots her in the ranks, but it could be wishful thinking.

This isn't how Katya gets with women. Alaska is hard to count because they were both freshly 17 and Katya was so deep in denial that it was happening until she was being kissed in the dressing room after they finished a talent show lip sync duet. Pearl was a one-night stand that lasted nearly two years. Other minor relationships started strong and steamed along nicely for a few months before they dried up. Raja and Kameron were her slow burns and she fought for them from day 1. They liked how she wriggled on their lines, and Katya liked to wriggle for them. The reward was worth it.

Now here Katya is, with her chin perched in wonder upon her gay fucking hands--gay _fucking_ hands, which needn’t be wasted pining for anyone--feeling misty over someone she's known, or known of, for a month with no moves being made. And she can't tell for sure if she's out. Whatever she is, and she's certainly something. 

“Oh wow, this is getting done today.” Despite her desire to be mad about it, Katya’s face flushes when she hears Trixie’s voice so close. “That means I can move all that shit out of my car, if you can stay to help.”

“I was planning to. Just leave it all in the office and I’ll set it up,” Willam offers, looking over his shoulder up at Trixie. He’s crouched on the ground holding the bottom still while Katya fits the shelf.

“I'll do it, I know where everything needs to go.” Willam steals a subtle upward glare at Katya and she clamps down her smile. In the shade he doesn't need his absurd trucker hat and his white blond hair is pulled back in a straw-stiff half knot. The bones in his face are strikingly contoured, and his physicality is mercurial. 

Trixie peers through the metal poles, grasping one. “Katya,” she says with a teasing tone, “why are you helping him do this?”

“Career change. My incomplete master’s degree in Public Policy is relevant to this job skill.”

Nodding her head, Trixie taps her fingertip on the pole as though she had a nail she meant to make a sound with. She then laughs softly through her nose and tips her head. “Might as well help me instead then. Meet me out front?” She’s turned and walked away before Katya can say anything. Katya pounds in the shelf, rubs her sore palms cursing herself for pretending her lily white hands could take it, and follows.  

Trixie stands at the back of her behemoth white GMC Yukon. Katya was a little disappointed when she first found out she doesn’t drive a pickup. She’s been meaning to ask and now seems like a fair chance.

“The bed gets filthy and unless you get a full cab no one can sit in the back seat without whining.” Trixie is talking to her from the back of her SUV with the seats flattened while she shoves heavy flat furniture boxes out through the trunk. “Then if you have proper back seats you lose space in the bed unless you get a truck that’s just too big for what I need.”

Katya’s interest in this thoroughly dull explanation is overshadowed as she panics thinking Trixie is going to ask for help carrying those enormous concrete-filled boxes somewhere. Of all the immediate and far-reaching consequences she’s endured from the shitshow she created with Kameron, this could actually be the worst.

“Do you think you can carry these two in?” Trixie has hopped from the trunk with a little dust still clouding around the bottom of her boots. She points to two boxes, one a small printer and the other a Mac computer box. Katya nods emphatically and is relieved. Her muscles are getting stronger even in her short time so far at Marigold, but she would be flattened in an attempt to hold up one end of the other boxes. She guesses Willam will be on the hook for that.

Once inside the office with the first box she notices Ginger’s desk appears undisturbed as though no one’s been there all day. Usually there are at least two unwashed coffee mugs and her phone is plugged in. There’s also the digital picture frame with photos of her partner and their son rotating through. It’s off.

“Is Ginger out sick?” Katya asks when she returns for the second box.

“She’s just off today.”

“What happens to the office when she’s out?”

“We all walk around on fire, as you can plainly see.” She speaks in a perfect Ginger voice, a humor and a kind of familiarity Katya didn’t see coming at all. Trixie finishes pulling the last big box from the trunk and shuts it. “We switch the phone to voicemail. No big deal. She has a family.”

Katya has only a few moments to let her heart flutter before Trixie grips one of the heavy boxes under one arm and hauls it by herself across to the office. As Katya plots Trixie’s wingspan, how much she can deadlift, and her sensible choice of SUV over pickup on her internal top-bottom-soft-hard matrix, she doesn’t realize she’s biting her lip and gawking.

“Katya!”

“What.”

“The second box.” Trixie laughs and rolls her eyes, pointing to the trunk. Katya leans forward and trudges to the trunk, grabs it and tries to hide any wobbling that occurs in the process.

Once inside with all the boxes Katya asks what it's all for. There's no space for a second desk. Trixie smiles to herself, pleased at holding back the answer from Katya as she searches through one of the flat boxes for assembly instructions.

“What? How juicy could office furniture be?”

“Not juicy at all. Just a surprise.” She retrieves the instructions and pulls a face flipping through them quickly. Katya snatches them from her, challenging her eye to eye with her head cocked and a smirk. “For Ginger. I'm clearing out this jacked up makeshift garbage she's been tolerating for the last three years, building her something nice.”

Katya holds up the instructions between two fingers.

“Fine, I am _assembling_ something nice.”

“Correction, _I_ am assembling something nice.” Trixie does a double take. “I am Dykea expert,” Katya says with a deep Russian accent that takes Trixie by surprise and gets her to scream. Katya had worried she’d exaggerated that sound in her memory but it really is that incongruous with Trixie's outward appearance.

“These are not from Ikea!”

Katya makes her face very stern even though she is smitten that her reference cleared the hurdle. “Oh Trixie, how could you betray our mother? Our womb built of modular compressed wood?”

“Okay, if you're going to stay you can’t distract me,” Trixie giggles in her low, airy voice. “Now that I hauled everything in this really has to get done today.”

“Excuse, I helped haul some things in!” Trixie steps over the box on the floor between them and grasps Katya's forearm gently, bending it back and forth at the elbow.

“How you doin’ little fella? Holdin’ up okay?” She's put on a Midwestern housewife accent that's oddly suggestive. She’s also leaned down to talk to Katya’s arm, emphasizing their height difference as well as the large scale of her arm by comparison.

All of it makes Katya think of fully consensually flipping her around by that arm, some day. Not too far off, she hopes, if she can get some momentum going.

\--

Katya wishes she could find out sooner how Ginger liked her new office. She doesn’t have anyone’s personal number yet and it would be pathetic to go by just to find out.

Besides, getting to spend all that time with Trixie has had her on a warm cloud the last couple days ...

 

Willam had pulled all the old furniture outside to take it apart and load in the back of Trixie’s SUV for the town dump. Meanwhile, Katya swiftly assembled while Trixie held pieces up, dead set on being integral to the operation even though Katya continued without issue when Trixie had to take calls on her iPhone. She enjoyed listening to Trixie’s end of the conversations, watching her lean and roll her eyes at Katya with a smile indicating the client she was talking to was being a pill.

They had chatted about where their family currently resides, and where they went to college. Katya felt like a creep when she had to pretend she didn’t already know Trixie went to CSU. But it was nice to learn more personal details, or ones Trixie thought were relevant for now. Like that the Equine Sciences program has lots of different tracks, they all require a lot of science-y classes and Trixie chose horse training as her focus but her parents pressured her to also study the business side of things. She was also quick to say she was grateful for that.

In return, Katya told her about going to Mass Art because she wanted to stay in New England where she’d been at boarding school and she’d enjoyed art there. She also confessed that it seemed like a less intimidating academic environment and she hadn’t really wanted that anyway because academic achievement didn’t mean anything to her. Katya found herself wishing as she had many times since college that she’d done something more directly related to her BFA, especially when Trixie asked her if she still does any creative work.

Katya made a few attempts at baiting Trixie into saying “Yes, I am.” For example, she brought up her brother and his wife and kids, and her parents moving out there to be near them, as opposed to being near their lesbian spinster daughter. Trixie replied that her sister plus her illegitimate brood keeps her parents off her back. It was maddening. She had zero doubts. She just needed to know that Trixie is out, fully out. 

When everything else was installed, she and Trixie carried in the wire shelf in from the back and were positioning it against the wall when Willam hollered in from outside. 

“Heyyy youuu guyyys! I need a _dyke_ over here!”

They both held onto the poles of the wire shelf, staring each other down. Katya’s tank was sweaty down the arms and between the shoulders and she could feel the red indents screaming under the waistband of her riding tights. She’d put her hair up in a ponytail earlier and took it out now, shook it loose around her shoulders with her fingers. Trixie’s head hung to the side as she shamelessly looked Katya up and down, her ponytail swinging, lips curved in the barest smile possible.

Then Trixie stepped away sucking in her cheek to be the dyke Willam requested. And Katya sank to the floor ... 

 

So now as she waits for Friday to come Katya feels undeniable movement, and no matter how gentle it is she rides it. 

\--

When Ginger sees Katya arrive Friday morning, she points at her through the window from where she sits on a phone call. Katya sees and freezes mid-step, then steps into the office. Ginger hangs up the phone and comes around from her new desk, new computer, new printer, new credenza which she is still organizing her old files and junk into, and the shelf for her office supplies, equipment and property maintenance manuals, OSHA manual, first aid supplies, etc. She reaches her short, round arms up to Katya and hugs her, hard.

“Don’t make me touch you ever again,” she says with the side of her face against Katya’s shoulder.

“The feeling is mutual.” Katya holds Ginger out at arm’s length. Ginger gives her a relaxed half-smile and walks back to her desk. Katya takes this as the most ebullient Ginger will ever be and takes a deep breath of contentment.

She takes a seat on the perpetually dusty couch that sits under the window on the other side of Ginger’s desk. Early once again, hoping to catch Trixie.

“It was kind of adorable how excited Trixie was, setting everything up for you,” she tells Ginger.

Ginger hasn’t lost her smile yet, but covers it by leaning her jaw into her hand. “I am very, very happy with all of this. But for the sake of the lord, do not ask me to think of Trixie as ‘adorable’.” Katya shifts on the couch, crosses one leg over the other.

“Forgive me if this is a bit awkward but … what is your guys’ …” Katya motions as though she’s tossing a ball between her hands. Ginger looks perplexed and then Katya’s question clicks. So she turns in her chair and folds her hands on her lap, her ankles touching but her knees splayed out.

“Trixie owns Marigold. I manage. That usually means she’d be doing a lot of the things _I’m_ doing. Hell, even a lot of the things Willam’s doing. I’m glad to have this job, of course.” She brushes her copper hair behind her ear and closes her eyes as though she’s obligated to clarify.

“Tammie, the original owner, trusts Trixie like her own child, if she had any. So when she got bored of running this place she handed it to Trixie. And when Trixie wanted to spread the work around so she could play with horses all day, Tammie said sure.”

Katya glances up and nods her head, trying to fill in the blanks.

“I can be a _green_ glamour toad if I want to be. All that said,” she takes a deep breath through her nose before continuing, “Trixie is talented. So there.”

“Oh? I mean, I see the wand waving and the muscles but it’s all a bit, uh … subtle.”

Ginger chuckles. “You know that _adorable_ thing where she slips from relaxed to flaring nostrils and back? In a way, that works for horses.” Katya tips her head as though it makes some sense. “And, as you know, it really charms people, too,” Ginger says and slaps her hand on her desk, turns back to her computer.

“So far I haven’t seen her flip back once the nostrils have flared!” Katya laughs as she stands up.

Courtney walks in from the other side of the office and greets Katya in their now usual way: “Lesbo.”

“This is really getting awkward. I’ve been coming here for what, fifteen years now?”

“Just about. Speaking of which, Ginger, did you let Katya know about Tammie’s tomorrow? She’s invited us all over to her house tomorrow evening for a barbecue and hot tub party. She goes away for the 4th so it's sort of a party for that and sort of a party for whatever.” Katya loves the way Courtney pronounces “party” and wishes she could adopt just that one word.

“I hadn’t thought about it but you should come. You’ve put in the hours, that’s for sure.”

This is the kind of invitation that most would simply say yes to if they were available, but Katya reacts with perfect ambivalence. It’s so sweet that they would include her. It’s also such a potentially long stretch of time to spend with them all when she has no idea what they would actually talk about. They probably have volumes of inside jokes that she won’t get. And each of them might corner her and ask probing questions she doesn’t want to answer until she has to feign explosive diarrhea to get out of there.

“Ohhh, that sounds so fun. I don’t want to infringe, though.”

“Why the hell would we mention it if it was exclusively for us elite trash?” Ginger asks. Katya feels a blush, more like a rash, crawl along her neck. She hates that she gets like this. Making a new friend or two as an adult shouldn’t be this hard.

“Yep, you’re right. I’m super psyched!” And then there’s just going way overboard. 

\--

At the end of her lesson, Katya almost forgets to get Tammie’s address from Ginger.

“So who’s coming? And by who I mean are the heterosexuals coming too or is it a family affair?” she asks as Ginger jots the address on a post-it. Ginger grins.

“Ha! Well everyone is invited but they won’t show. They know better.” Ginger pauses after handing Katya the post-it. “Trixie doesn’t … come to these things.” Katya tries to keep her face and shoulders up in spite of it.  

“No, Trixie _is_ coming!” Farrah bursts. Katya jumps having not realized the little sprite was at the back. The other two glance at each other before shaking their heads.

“Did you mean Santa, hon?” Ginger asks, leaning around Katya to deliver her mocking.

Farrah's eyes crinkle with a saccharine smile, relishing she knows something Ginger doesn't. She walks up to the two of them, stands with her hands folded neatly in front of her.

“Hmm. Well Dr. Monsoon called, and while she had me on the phone she asked for Tammie’s address because she forgot. I asked if that meant _she_ was coming because she is _so cool_ , she's like your _cool mom_ , you know?” Ginger and Katya bob their heads affirmatively because they can tell through the ringing in their ears that Farrah has asked them some sort of question. “Anyway she said yes _and_ she joked that she's Trixie’s ride home if she gets tanked!”

“Okay, I guess Trixie _is_ coming. But don't let that sway you,” Ginger winks. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is nearly done, I had to split it from this one because it got so long! I almost started naming the chapters but then decided I'm tapped out on unrealistic expectations. Enjoy :)


	4. Too hot for the hot tub: part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting in silence she notes how Trixie takes up space in a way women often don't. It's sexy, and it would be no matter her physical size. She also sees Trixie not doing what so many people try to, posing or framing sensitive parts of themselves like their arms or stomachs or thighs.
> 
> Katya can’t know for sure how Trixie feels about her body; but as an aware member of the toxic fat shaming world that no one can truly opt out of, Katya thinks she can tell the difference between someone playing against their body and someone playing for it. And that confidence is contagious. It's an ingredient of Trixie’s aphrodisiac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to break this into two smaller chapters because apparently I wanted to keep them at Tammie's house a little longer than I thought :)
> 
> Also this is the Tammie look I reference, plus an Insta photo I couldn't find as easily but I just love this wig too much: https://www.reddit.com/r/rupaulsdragrace/comments/79bzwy/raja_and_tammie_by_thomas_evans/

Tammie Brown’s house is buried deep in the woods and Waze is not cooperating. Katya drives over to a more populated road to try for a stronger signal.

Waiting for the app to catch up, she lights a second cigarette and scrolls the inane family message thread filled with a stream of pictures of her brother’s kids. Because he doesn't believe in sharing their images on social media but he _does_ believe in intrusively boring people with them. Katya adores her nieces but it’s hard to continually feign fresh interest in new photos of anyone standing on their own front lawn doing nothing, even if they're four years old in a strawberry sundress. If Katya had more messages coming through right now she would mute this thread, but that would be even more depressing.

The map has relocated and redirected her. She’s only 4 minutes away and can remember the route shown without using the app from here. She's 73% sure she can.

From the entrance to the long, very bumpy dirt driveway Katya immediately sees Trixie’s blinding white Yukon parked in the middle of four other cars. It’s 6:45 and she was told a casual 6ish so she hopes she's not the absolute last to arrive. She really needs to get at least one person’s number tonight for stuff like this in the future.

Before hopping out she uses the rearview mirror to check the cheap waterproof eye makeup she'd grabbed from the only drugstore nearby. She also thinks about how she could have easily washed her hair earlier instead of spending shower time on a date with her waterproof vibrator and the cool stone tiles. But it was beckoning her and she thought it prudent to try to soothe the urge down just a little before climbing into a hot tub with pulsing jets and all that blonde hair.

After slamming her car door shut she hears loud talking and gasps, the sounds of a couple rounds of drinks already digested. Tammie’s house is not as grand as she expected. It’s also a bit dilapidated with moss growth on the roof from the overgrown trees shading it too much from the sun from the warm dry sun; the exterior is splotchy with scraggly tall grass and brambles. But Katya knows this is common among certain old money types. Tammie probably has multiple homes and it doesn’t matter much to her how any of them appear.

Katya walks up the steps along the side to the door where she can see some activity inside.

“Hello?” comes a gentle voice from inside, like a crystal chandelier being brushed by a woman’s hand.

“Yes, hello? Can I come in?” Katya asks.

“You’re Katya, of course you can come in.” There stands Tammie, grande dame with a choppy strawberry blonde coiffe, heavily painted face with lips drawn in the shape of a bow tie, a bright floral bandanna on her neck, and leopard print leggings. _Yes yes, this is what I came for_.

Tammie kisses both her cheeks and gives her a plastic wine cup to fill up with what Katya recognizes as an expensive selection on the counter. “More white and rosé in that refrigerator over there if there's something specific you want to look for.”

“Oh this is perfect, thank you. Is um … are people out back?” Katya has never outgrown the fear of interacting with unknown guests and hosts. Tammie waves her off and she scurries to the sliding glass door.

Peering through it she sees everyone settled into Tammie's giant state-of-the-art hot tub, impressive though a stark anachronism compared to the rest of the house. In addition to those she expects there's Ginger’s partner plus a younger spiky-haired Justin Bieber butch grasping Courtney's shoulders.

Beyond the porch and the hot tub on the patio below it there's a backyard separated with sloppy jagged trees and bushes from a huge open field. Katya spots two brown rabbits leaping across the backyard and hears Courtney and Farrah--and Trixie, to her slight surprise--all squeal.

Trixie reclines in the far corner of the tub, her hair damp and a little fuzzy from the steam. It looks like the rest are sitting in her audience. Farrah, predictably, is seated nearest to her though still a solid distance apart.

“Katya!” Willam calls out. Katya quickly opens the door and steps through. “Where the fuck you been, is this some NYC bullshit?”

“Ehhhh, gay time? Is that still a thing?” She closes the door and cross the porch to the top of the stairs as a few groans bubble up the group.

“Let me see you in that swimsuit sis, come on,” Willam urges. Katya hesitates for half a second before deciding she was about to take off her cover-up anyway, then drops her bag and pulls it off. She's wearing her one piece black swimsuit with a deep v-neck, cut very low in the back with clasped band across the back that keeps it from rolling off. She's had it for years, hasn't had much opportunity to wear it.  

Katya's front view gets a round of catcalls. And when she turns and drops it to the floor, lifting her hair up and letting it cascade down over where her tattoos wrap over the peaks of her shoulders the calls get significantly louder about the view from the back.

Before coming back up Katya looks over her shoulder to stick out and bite down on her tongue with a sneer, and she hears a distinct shriek quickly muffled with a hand. That's satisfaction enough so she quickly stands up. It's not her style to oversell.

With the impromptu show over, she walks down to the brick patio and finds a table nearby for her bag which mainly has her cigarettes and lighter. She knows there's a good chance at least one of these “non-smokers” will ask her for one and break the ice so she can smoke too.

Katya slips off her flip flops and climbs in, not right next to Trixie but flanking her as Farrah has, on her other side. Farrah reaches over and hands her a snarled sparkly purple hair elastic to keep her hair dry. Katya is a bit taken aback by the sweet gesture. She does briefly wonder if it covertly identifies her as one of Trixie’s harem of sex slaves, but that's neither here nor there.

“Now that Katya's arrived, has everyone taken a moment to appreciate Trixie’s swimsuit?” Courtney leans back into her Justin Bieber butch while making an ‘oops, did I say that?’ face at Trixie.

Farrah’s face stretches into an elated gasp. “I could stare at her swimsuit all day.”

“What I find remarkable is how buoyant her swimsuit is.” Even Ginger has a go.

“What swimsuit, look at her tits,” Willam deadpans with his shark eyes.

Katya takes a deep sip from her wine, sensing they're all easily two glasses in. Trixie doesn't flinch but there's a palpable blank space for Katya to fill with some cheap innuendo. If she were going to, she might up the ante with _‘If Barbie looked like you I would have liked playing with her.”_

_Scratch that, ‘... I’d still be playing with her.’_

_‘... I’d have the whole set nailed to a wall.’ Nope, even I can’t stomach that._

_‘... I would have gotten her stuck up my--’ This is why I can’t have nice things._

Katya empties her glass. The swimsuit they're referring to is pink and darker pink with a cutout in the middle and a tie between her breasts. Everything about Trixie is at 1.5 scale. Between the suit and the water she floats in, Katya can tell how soft her breasts are and she's gagging for them. They aren't firm, and they’re the kind that have never been firm, or that's how Katya would like to imagine things. Katya only once had a go at a similar pair. And she passed out drunk on them. That was a lot of hostility to come around to. The memory of that loss still brings a small tear to her eye, the one that got scratched in the melee. If she has a shot at ever forgiving herself, she wants Trixie’s tits to be her shots.

\--

Ginger and her partner bum cigarettes and most people make their way through another glass of wine. Willam helps Tammie at the grill on the porch. Farrah whines about her bikini top slipping up and Courtney tells her to stop shopping in the toddler bathing costumes section. Trixie makes fun of Courtney calling swimsuits “costumes” but then agrees since Farrah's wearing it it is more of a costume than a swimsuit.

Katya keeps up with most of the chatter even though it's a lot all at once. And all she really wants is to talk to Trixie, now that the shock of seeing her in a swimsuit has worn off.

“Barbecue is set out, children. Come enjoy. Afterwards perhaps we can take a nocturnal walk in nature.” Tammie holds long tongs and waves in her brood with the kindest smile Katya can recall ever seeing.

The others make their moves to climb out in a lose progression, pushing water around the tub and flicking mismatched threadbare towels around their showers and waists. Trixie stays put.

“Not going in?” Katya asks. She hasn’t moved either.

“Not really hungry yet.” She leans casually on her knuckles propped on the edge. “And I don't eat meat so it's not super enticing.”

Katya sits back and appreciates knowing at this point she doesn’t need an excuse to stay, too.

Sitting in silence she notes how Trixie takes up space in a way women often don't. It's sexy, and it would be no matter her physical size. She also sees Trixie _not_ doing what so many people try to, posing or framing sensitive parts of themselves like their arms or stomachs or thighs.

Katya can’t know for sure how Trixie feels about her body; but as an aware member of the toxic fat shaming world that no one can truly opt out of, Katya thinks she can tell the difference between someone playing against their body and someone playing for it. And that confidence is contagious. It's an ingredient of Trixie’s aphrodisiac.

But now she has to think of something to say because she's probably making a desperate face.

“I'm sorry, by the way, for the time I laughed at your name. I don't know if you even remember it but I never meant--”

Trixie whips her head around with a confused smile. “Of course I remember.” Katya feels herself blush and closes her eyes tightly. “But it's okay. Did you think I've been holding a grudge?”

“How should I know! You can be hard to read.”

Trixie’s smile stretches and her cheeks go high and round. It's impossible to tell the difference with the heat of the water and the steam rising off the surface, but all other signs tell Katya she's made Trixie blush so she taps her accelerator.

“Full disclosure my given name is Yekaterina.” The little bounce across Trixie’s forehead gives away how the sound of Katya’s full name delights her. “But I don't have a visceral reaction when someone calls me that. Usually at an airport. Have you always gone by ‘Trixie’?”

“No, actually. My parents shortened it to Bea and it was always that until I changed it.” She waits for Katya to give some signal that she's satisfied with the answer and rolls her eyes playfully when Katya doesn't. Before continuing she folds her legs next to her making her breasts bob and resettle. Katya squints to restrain the laugh in her throat. _Nice power move_.

“I had an old lady's name for the first thirty years of my life and then decided for the rest of it I wanted something cute that I chose myself. A fresh start.”

Katya allows herself a few seconds to respond. “That's awesome, Trixie. It matches you.”

“When I'm being nice,” Trixie giggles, gathering a dried leaf that twirled into the water and flicking it from her fingers over the side. This is when Katya notices her nails are manicured and pink. Short, but not her natural nails. She got them _done_ done. Another data point to plot. She is scrambling Katya's matrix.

“No, always.” Katya has her elbow on the side of the tub.

Trixie only meets her eyes for a few second before she begins to examine the channels in the pruning pads of her own fingers. The sun is about 20 minutes from fully set and it's fiery orange and pink across the field. Katya relaxes against the jets on her back. Being crouched for hours the other day caught up with her, not that she would admit it. Trixie closes her eyes and rubs at her neck. It crosses Katya's mind to offer, but the loud yapping and roars of laughter from the house are too intrusive.

“What are you doing out here all summer by yourself?”

Katya pulls the least distressing answer off the shelf, the little Prius _._ “I'm kind of burned out, and I work on a consultant basis so I could take the time off.” She watches Trixie not let her off the hook just as she hadn't however many minutes ago. 

“My work is so dull, especially compared to what you all do, I can hardly describe it.” Nope, not off the hook. “I help companies implement CRMs, mostly small businesses and orgs. Non-profits. Galleries sometimes. Well, one. And schools.”

“So like … IT?”

“No. I look at their needs and recommend how to set things up, different products, get the right resources working for them. Then I meet with them and handhold and cheerlead.” Katya can feel all the better things she could be doing with her life running and hiding, screaming.

“But I can speak developer well enough to keep the IT crowd from clanking their balls too loudly. And I do quick backend stuff, make unhappy clients breathe again. That's my main technical skill, if anyone ever realizes how flimsy the rest of my job description is.”

“Quieting noisy balls or resuscitating uptight clients?”

“Oh God, please no more balls while we're in a hot tub.” Trixie throws a hand up and scoffs. “It’s such an upsetting combo.”

“You started it!” Trixie looks down her cup and sighs. “I'm empty.”

Katya frowns and sucks her teeth. “Shit, I'm depressed. Are we really downward spiraling this quickly?” Trixie throws her head back in a cackle. “Oh, you were just fishing for a refill?” Trixie extends her arm and Katya grabs the cup.

As Katya climbs out she pulls her fingers along the bottom of her swimsuit purely for show. She sends gratitude to the very last flicker of the set sun for casting a glow on her skin; to the long lock of her hair that fell loose while they were talking and makes a damp curl down along her spine; to every minute she's spent hauling a saddle or a bucket at the stables that’s popped out the growing muscles in her arms and shoulders; and finally to the extra pounds of bounce her ass picked up in the years since she turned 35.

With a towel wrapped around her waist she steps inside and closes the sliding door behind her.

“Tammie where's the microwave?” Ginger asks, darting her face around the kitchen in disbelief. “I brought ingredients to make more queso if we finished the first batch.”

“I don't like microwaves,” Tammie states plainly, her hand resting on her countertop. Ginger rolls her eyes upwards to stare at her. “They're bad for the environment.”

Katya winces a silent chuckle at how assertive Tammie can be on this one point given her gentle, twinkling demeanor.

“Can I just help myself?” she asks from just inside the sliding door.

Tammie immediately bends at an angle and casts her pale grey-blue eyes and rich red smile towards Katya. “Yes of course, Katya. There's more in my drinks refrigerator over there.”

It strikes Katya as maternal, almost grandmotherly, how Tammie says her name. And points to where the fridge is as though she might not find it otherwise, as if she hadn’t pointed it out already when Katya first walked in. The fridge that’s plastered with magnets about Standing Rock, freeing orcas, and … one of a Teletubby? Tammie is of many eras at once, including the present and possibly the future.

The rest of the group are engrossed in Cards Against Humanity in a tizzy over the 90s Nostalgia Pack Willam brought, so Katya slips back out quietly.

Standing at the top of the stairs she sees Trixie leaning on her crossed arms over the edge of the tub, looking out across the field and forest stretched out below. Her feet are braced against the opposite side of the foot well. With the jets turned down low the breaks in the surface just barely ripple her lower back and everything under it. Katya lets her eyes relax searching for a glimpse of how her body might look when she comes, but only when everything's been done for her just right.

When she snaps out of her haze, she steps down as soft as she can but Trixie turns quickly anyway as thought Katya crushed a twig.

“Thought I heard the door close again,” is all she says when she takes the drink from Katya. Her approach sloshes water over the side onto Katya's towel, eliciting a mumbled tease.

“Huh?” Trixie asks.

“What.”

“Something ‘dolphin’.”

“I think your hair is too heavy, maybe, you're hearing things,” Katya insists as she settles herself in closer to Trixie than when she got out. She takes a guess that she's been let off the hook only because Trixie has wine to sip.

After swallowing, Trixie sucks in her lower lip and squints, brings her face closer to Katya's shoulder. 

“I know they're flowers, but I've never looked closely. Of course it's too dark now. Oh oh!” Trixie lunges across to the controls and presses a button that illuminates the tub. “Oh Jesus, there are different colors. How extra are we feeling?”

“Uhh … try a couple?”

Trixie presses another button and the lights turn green. “How is this even an option, who would choose this?” she demands with a shrill disbelief that gives Katya an eerie premonition of future intimacy. _I don't know baby, not everyone feels that strongly about green LEDs. Care for a fucking?_

The next color is blue which is better and Katya moves to suggest they should stick with it because it's awkward to run through them all. But before she can speak Trixie switches it once more and the lights turn violet. It's slightly tacky and super sexy. Katya crosses her fingers.

“This seems right.” Trixie crosses back over and sits almost next to Katya, turned towards her.

Trixie examines them carefully, closely. Very closely. “Is it … you know … the orchids?” Trixie tilts her head with an unusually self-conscious expression when she asks, like if she's gotten it wrong she'll be embarrassed.

“They are!” Katya rushes to assure her. She flexes her baby triceps and cranes her neck to look down and to the side. “Well they're the tattoo artist’s take on two of her paintings.” Her voice is constricted by the odd angle.

“I showed him ‘Light Iris’ and then ‘Blue Flower’. ‘Blue Flower’ was first, on this side,” she clarifies with a tap to her other arm. “He wouldn't straight up copy O’Keeffe’s work which pissed me off at the time but I get him being an artist in his own right.”

Trixie isn't saying anything and it makes Katya nervously ramble on.

“And ultimately the lines he did work on my skin because the canvas has texture my skin doesn't. Until I'm really, really old and these flowers really start looking like what they're meant to be!”

“Turn around,” Trixie says while looking at Katya's body, circling her finger clockwise in the foot of air between them to get Katya to turn her back towards her.

“Why?”

Trixie looks up and cocks her head as if the answer is obvious. “So I can see both sides at once.”

“But why can't I turn facing you?”

“Then turn facing me!” Trixie yells too loudly with a giggle. Katya clutches her chest and feigns insult with a loud gasp.

She turns her back to Trixie anyway and looks over her shoulder, pursing her lips. Trixie’s wet lashes flutter closed as Katya turns away. The 22 year old version of herself looks down at the whole scene counting on her fingers and toes how many deals these tattoos have inked since college. That was her parents’ cash well spent.

Katya doesn't feel the water move but she hears it rushing off Trixie’s arm and then slowing to drips. Then she can't hear or place where Trixie is behind her exactly and it's unnerving. The wine and the hot tub have taken effect more than she'd realized until now. A breeze coming off the field scatters a few dry leaves across the water and all of Katya’s exposed skin gets just a little cooler than comfortable. Everything in her head is replaced with the sensations in her body from the alcohol, the breeze being too cold, the water being too hot, and Trixie being right behind her, staring but invisible. Katya’s supposed to sit still for her but it’s cold and uncomfortable. Just when she wants to dip under to get rid of the chill, another breeze comes in from behind. A warm one. It's so gentle and thin, just tickling between her shoulders. Rhythmically … it's Trixie’s breath on her.

Katya exhales in her throat and almost makes a sound. Her breasts are begging to be squeezed and the cruel water gently stirring around them is torture. This must be what awaits her in hell, Katya decides. Now the feeling drops to her core and blooms. And she's wet. Wet enough she feels it even though she’s remained perfectly still. She feels slightly foolish for getting this aroused from so little, thinking it must be a sign of how hard up she is. Then just thinking the words “hard up” makes it even worse and her clit starts to pulse. She envisions the trembling water cup in _Jurassic Park_ and then gets the movie score stuck in her head and she has to bite back a laugh all while digging her fingernails into her water-swollen palm.

“Is it weird if I touch them?”

 _Oh my god_. “Sure you can,” Katya blurts out before clamping her mouth shut again. Her answer doesn't match the question but Trixie must have understood because she’s already pressing two fingers down Katya’s deltoid muscle. Katya squeezes her thighs tightly and arches in a little by reflex. The hot water fills her just a little when her hips tip back. Her eyes and hands have been shut tight forever but suddenly they release. She’s ready. 

When she feels Trixie’s fingers under the clasped band of her swimsuit pulling it back from the bottom of her shoulder blade, Katya pushes down to turn.

“What's this one?” Trixie’s voice sounds far off and Katya freezes.

“Huhh? … Oh … A fetal pig … skeleton … and its silhouette.” She feels all the water suck away from her with a plaintive squeak. Katya turns to face Trixie who is poised in genuine horror, long fingers splayed across her chest, jaw dropped.

_Well ..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part will be posted Monday evening!


	5. Too hot for the hot tub: part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there's Trixie with her arms slung around Jinkx’ shoulders, whispering in her ear. And Jinkx with her hand squeezing Trixie’s hip, making her squeak and giggle. Then they walk into the living room with their arms around each other's waists, and everyone greets Jinkx with a familiarity that feels in every way like they knew all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for reference to mental health issues, I hope in a purposeful way. Certainly something I write from personal experience and not voyeurism or conjecture, not that one take would ever speak to everyone's experience. 
> 
> I have filled out my tumblr a bit at mattepinkallshades so it looks like I actually go to there, if you wish to dm me :)

Katya tries to clear her head. Not happening. Thirty seconds earlier she’d been moving to straddle Trixie, already thinking about afterwards when she’d shout up to Tammie that she might want to drain the hot tub while ducking Trixie’s head under the passenger side door of her Wrangler.

Now she’s running through those Barbie lines again, thinking maybe she could at least soften the look on Trixie’s face. That’s a 50/50 chance at best.

It’s hopeless. The dead piglet tattoo just doesn’t drop panties the way her sprawling pussy flowers tend to. Katya doesn't hide it per se but even in skimpy clothes it's usually covered. Unless someone is undressing her which Trixie kind of sort of maybe was. 

“Look, I have this traumatic visual memory of the fetal pig I was supposed to dissect in high school. I never cut into it, but then I like …”  _Step right up and witness this lesbian turn a hot tub into an ice rink with these magic words:_ “Obsessively imagined poking it and feeling its bones, or its bottle caps--” she pauses as Trixie fake heaves, at least she's pretty sure it's fake, “--or whatever crunchy matter it could be full of because I couldn't stop these stoner fantasies.”

Trixie groans and throws her head far back. “I don't want to do this with you any more!”

“It was gross,” Katya admits, her hands out and her shoulders up in surrender. Still floating in and out of heavy arousal, her voice cracks a little at the sight of Trixie’s exposed throat and the tendons in her neck. 

Trixie drops her head and points a pink talon at Katya, thinking of what to say. Some curls have fallen loose around her face and she looks red, sweaty, and unsated.

Katya continues while the finger points at her. “So the tattoo is an attempt at like, confrontation, acceptance, and transparency.”

Trixie can sit still in silence a hell of a lot longer than she can. Finally she flips her palm up like she’s figured it out.

“So your diet’s primarily word salad with extra bacon?”

“I can explain it better!” 

“I'll be picking spiders off my psyche for days as it is, thanks,” Trixie rattles off with her chin down, fixing her loose hair. Katya curls into herself with laughter that leads to a few hard coughs.

“That reminds me I need like, three cigarettes.” Her towel hardly has a dry spot left from where Trixie had splashed it earlier. She shakes her hands dry and carefully grasps the filter between two of her own bare but perfectly filed nails that just barely reach her fingertips. She’d 'done' her nails too in vain, just in case the odds had tipped more heavily in her favor. 

“Hacking like an old man reminds you to smoke more?”

“What did I say the first time you harassed me about this?” Katya mumbles around the cigarette in her mouth as she flicks the lighter.

Trixie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Well, I'm sorry I don't have tattoos to show you.” Katya blows smoke from the corner of her mouth away from Trixie, lifts an eyebrow. “Or any for that matter.”

“What would you get done?”

Trixie finishes the last drop of her wine, chasing the last molecule. “You mean now?”

“Whenever, in the 18th century!”

“Was that when you had your first sweet 16?”

Katya slapped the edge so hard it hurt her wrist and she shook it out while she hissed laughter. “W-wait are you implying I'm a vampire or that I'm really old?”

“If I have to explain my joke to you--”

“No it's just--I'm 38, for the record. I turned 38 in May.”

This seems to perk Trixie up, or certainly more than anything has since Wilbur barreled in and took a dump on the action.

“I will also be 38, in August,” she chirps. “Some ladies our age are racing to freeze their eggs, I’m choosing to sous vide mine,” Trixie says in a breathy voice, scooping up the hot water and pouring it off her open hands and glaring hotly at Katya before barking a laugh. Katya imitates a boisterous reaction as best she can. Despite the charmingly awkwardly timed flirtation, the topic chills her stomach.  

“You didn't answer, though. About what tattoo you would get.” Katya has her fingers crossed for a pin-up girl in fishnets because she's done that. She can do a lot with fishnets. 

Trixie takes her time on it. She keeps her eyes on her cup, looking less like she's considering multiple options and more like she's considering if she wants to say what she's thinking.

“Well by now I bet Jinkx has posted my photo everywhere in Long Island next to clipart of bows and hearts and unicorns with a big STOP sign across them.” Trixie laughs to herself and taps the empty cup upside down on the edge of the tub. Katya makes a gesture to ask if she wants more and Trixie shakes her head without looking.

Katya leans her temple into her hand and the almost burned down cigarette warms her fingers. There's something ... she can't put her finger on it. 

“Never too late to be a princess … princess.”

“Don’t.”

Katya quickly stubs out the cherry, a little thrown like she missed a layer of conversation. “I didn't mean to imply you aren't a badass.”

Trixie smiles but it looks weary now. Katya isn't sure when that happened. The bubbling water becomes audible for the first time in at least an hour. Perhaps they’ve been in the heat too long, without food and with too much pushing and pulling.

Spanning her arms across her side of the tub--pushing Katya back without a word--Trixie sinks low in the water with her chin dipped under and her feet floating up and over the opposite edge. Looking down, she flexes her toes painted pink-lavender, almost Pepto Bismol. They match her fingernails.

“This color is called ‘Chastity’.”

“‘Ride a Cowgirl’ must have been trademarked.” She quickly reaches for Trixie’s arm when she slips down the side of the tub laughing and sucks in water. Trixie coughs hard trying to get a full breath back, wheezing harder each time she can’t. Katya moves to sit right alongside her, rubbing across her back and assuring her. Trixie grasps her free hand, hard. Just a minute later she can breathe fine but she’s still gripping it.  

“God, what an idiot,” she says, casting an embarrassed glance at Katya. It's the first time their eyes have met since Trixie confessed her debauched thirst for pretty things. 

“Yes, an idiot who needs oxygen. It’s fine, Trixie, I already knew you’re a human.” Katya moves her thumb over Trixie’s knuckles a few times to remind her they’re still holding hands. She knows.

“Oh Trixieee! It’s Monsooooon season!” Courtney calls through her cupped hand from the house. Katya doesn’t react but Trixie drops her hand and the water feels cooler all of a sudden.

“I’m gonna go see her. You’ll come in too? She wants to meet you.”

“Of course, don’t want to be out here alone!” Katya watches her stand, water quickly pouring off her suit and down her legs. She watches how she moves, not knowing how long it will be before she sees her this close to naked again. 

\--

Jinkx is another force to behold entirely and Katya doesn't know quite how to react when she walks back into Tammie's kitchen after finishing one last cigarette. She's very pretty but Katya can't appreciate her at face value because her dynamic with Trixie throws her off. She hasn't observed Trixie in such close proximity with anyone. In fact, Trixie seems to maintain a bubble around her at all times. But here's Jinkx with her rich red waves, hourglass frame in a fitted denim jacket over an emerald green velour maxi dress, and laser eyes like she's channeling one of the gorgeous but frightening background actors from  _The Witches_. 

And there's Trixie with her arms slung around Jinkx’ shoulders, whispering in her ear. And Jinkx with her hand squeezing Trixie’s hip, making her squeak and giggle. Then they walk into the living room with their arms around each other's waists, and everyone greets Jinkx with a familiarity that feels in every way like they knew all along.

All Katya knew before tonight was that Jinkx--Dr. Monsoon--is the large animal vet that comes on site when needed and she gathered that she's friendly with Trixie. Courtney mentioned she has extensive knowledge of essential oils, crystals, something else, and the thing that perked Katya's ears: an excellent weed connection, important this far east. How no one would have even casually mentioned what seems glaringly obvious feels like … a weirdly familiar paranoia that makes Katya need a small enclosed space by herself immediately.

She has to walk through the living room to get to the bathroom and she knows she'll be intercepted.

“Thought you'd wandered into the woods by yourself and gotten picked off by one of our local slashers. Katya this is Jinkx, Dr. Monsoon when she's working,” Ginger says, reaching up to clasp Katya's clammy shoulder.

“Please never call me Dr. Monsoon. I'm so glad to finally meet you.” Jinkx’ voice sounds restrained, if Katya's not mistaken. Whether it's forced serenity or resentment, she can't tell, but the impact she feels is condescension. “Seems like you’ve become the most popular girl at summer camp.”

“Jesus, gross.” Katya hears herself and knows it didn't sound remotely like a joke. She attempts a laugh and throws in a razzle dazzle hand gesture before darting out of the scene.

With the click of the button lock securing her inside, Katya looks everywhere but the mirror. She needs to calm herself down so she can say goodnight and drive home, not feed the sensation that she’s seeing things differently from everyone else. Or that others can see things she’s missing. Literally, figuratively.

She reviews as much as she can to determine what she got wrong or if the people out there are really just monsters, or somewhere in between. Trixie has been flirting with her. Is Trixie looking to cheat? She seems smitten with Jinkx. Maybe she feels guilty and she's overcompensating. That can cover all matter of sins.

_“You’re so grabby right now.”_

_“Ha! Um … I’m honestly really horny. I need help.”_

_“You definitely need help. Let's sit outside.”_

Jinkx and Trixie. Getting their fore-foreplay on right outside the bathroom door that Katya is quietly banging her head against. 

As for Ginger and the others, it could be that they don't like Jinkx and are hoping they'll break up. It's a rom-com trope, sure, but it's plausible. It has to be. But then it occurs to Katya that none of them have encouraged her or even shown that they know about her and Trixie’s little thing going on. Which only caught any air a few days ago. And she thinks of what in retrospect were clearly Ginger's attempts to wipe away Katya's heart eyes. 

28 year old Katya would be in a puddle of hot tears or, less likely but possibly, flipping a table right now. The only asshole in all this is Trixie. 

38 year old Katya can lean back on the sink and realize that everything she can actually control is also what she needs to do: get home; finally eat dinner; take her daily medication which is far more important to her wellbeing than anyone's boobs; clean herself up however feels good; and go to sleep. She can self-care, for now at least. On Monday she can get in touch with her therapist in the city and make a catch-up appointment.

Once Katya emerges from the bathroom she’s steadfast in her mission to depart smoothly. She hears a familiar song playing and recalls it as one of her first boarding school roommate’s favorites, even though it was already a little outdated at the time. One line sticks out and propels her forward.

_You better make it soon before you break my heart_

Willam gets up from sitting on the floor when he sees Katya. “Oh hey girl, you missed us telling the time Jinkx passed out frontways on the patio stairs all--” he mimes like he’s climbing with his face plastered flat against a surface. Katya would be in stitches if she could right now. She musters a solid grin.

“That’s great. I’m going to head home, not feeling too well.” Implying you’ve destroyed someone’s bathroom will always get you a fast pass. “Thank you, Tammie, I had a blast.”

Courtney and Farrah both stand and protest but Katya politely, quickly insists and slips through without further resistance. She snatches her bag from the kitchen counter where she dumped it when she came in from the hot tub.

Just as she’s about to cross to the front door she smells weed from the porch and instinctively glances through the glass. Jinkx and Trixie are cozied up on the little loveseat glider, drenched in moonlight facing the field. That song playing from the living room is almost over but it strikes Katya how lovely the moment is for them, and she can’t put a container around how shitty that makes her feel. She clenches her teeth and resolves not to leak until she’s home.

\--

The smooth, silent cocoon ride is sealing everything out. It’s exactly what Katya needs. At hardly 10pm, if she were really at home--in the city--she could still get whatever she wanted for dinner. But out here she’ll make do with what she has at the house.

Katya switches on the fans to make white noise. She would turn on music but she can't afford to lose any more music by association with heartache.

Her iPhone buzzes in its vent holder and she only notices because of the glow. She got pulled over for holding it while driving during her first week and has been extra cautious since. She glances and sees a message from a number with no contact info:

 

**_Unknown number_   _: Why did you just leave?_**

 

Katya pulls off by a cornfield. 

 

**_K_   _: Who's this?_**

**_Unknown number_   _: Whatever_**

 

The hair trigger fragility plus the context can't be anyone else.

 

**_K_ _: Trixie?_ **

**_Unknown number_   _: Yes it's Trixie._** **_I'll let you pretend you didn't know.  
_ **

 

Katya’s chest heats as she adds her to her contacts, fingers vibrating.

 

**_K_ _: So … did you text me just to be irritable?  
_ _Because if so then C U Next Tuesday for my usual dose._ **

**_T: Ha!_ **  
**_No just_ **  
**_You didn't say anything_ **  
**_Like ... maybe it was a misunderstanding_ **

**_K_   _: Aw, I'm sorry_**

**_T_   _: Maybe I owe you an apology  
__Lol, well you said it first so it’s your fault ;)_**

 

Their messages had overlapped. And they were all so vague but she wouldn't be sitting next to her girlfriend typing all this out. Not in the scene Katya thought she'd just left. Katya wants to write something else, wants to say she’ll come back because she absolutely will. In a heartbeat. But she hesitates too long. 

 

**_T_   _: Make it up to me some other time  
__?_**

**_K_  ** _**: Yes!!!**  
_

 

That added “?” invigorates Katya too much to hold back her enthusiasm. She hears a high pitched sound she doesn’t recognize as her own and clears her throat.  

Before Katya puts her phone down she sees an email notification of a friend request from Jinkx Monsoon. She hasn’t turned that type of notification off, apparently. Fucking Facebook. It could wait until she gets home. But it seems suspiciously timely. She clicks and accepts it, peruses Jinkx’ profile. Just to confirm one quick thing that will let her sleep tonight :  _Relationship status - Single_.

_Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the stage: Teenage Infatuation._

Katya searches Spotify and finds the song she needs to drive home to.

Then she pulls back on the road, rolls the windows down, holds her hair back, and lets herself cry because she couldn’t before. She’ll still call on Monday to make that appointment because she needs to. This is already too much whether it's going good or bad and she's running on fumes.

 _Come on baby_  
_We better make a start_  
_You better make it soon before you break my heart  
_ _Oh I, I want to be with you everywhere_

\--

What Katya won’t see is the light from Trixie’s phone glowing under Jinkx’ face when she shows it to her before sending back a simple smiley face.

“Aww, see? And she accepted my friend request which means she probably knows by now that we're for sure not fucking. Which she absolutely thought we were, you moron.” 

“‘I’m sorry’,” Trixie says, making dramatic air quotes with her fingers. 

Jinkx pulls her face into a gag and rolls her eyes at the stale joke. “You need to update one area of your life: the TV shows you reference, the music you listen to, or just join social media which would cover the first two.” Jinkx takes a long pull from their joint and holds it. “Fucking embarrassing,” she croaks.

“Bitch,  _who_ goes from helpful when they’re sober to hostile when they’re high?” Jinkx snickers through her teeth. Trixie loves her laugh and leans into her shoulder.

“You'll have to tell her all your secrets you know.” Trixie sits back up ramrod straight at this and stares at her with dry heavy eyes. “She'll clock your silicone addiction if you ever get her to touch your worn out saddle.” Jinkx waits for a retort. “Bzzzt time’s up, what do you say?”

“Fuck off, you don’t deserve my comeback.” Trixie pulls at her white eyelet cover-up trying to stretch it further down her thighs to get warm but it's no use. These things are made for people who are 5’8” maximum. That’s what she gets for buying cheap shit off Amazon.

“That's not a real thing though, is it?” Trixie asks with as little trepidation in her voice as she can manage, given the frequency and fervency with which she relies on sex toys to keep her sane. If her staff only knew how much worse things could be. 

Jinkx cackles. “Sorry, you're not the kind of large animal I specialize in.” Trixie grumbles at having set up another punchline at her own expense. “You laced my skates  _and_ gave me a push on that one.”

“Okay you’re being  _very_ \--” Trixie tries to keep a straight face while Jinkx parrots her stern pose, “--  _very_ punchy tonight. I know what my problem is, what’s up with you?”

Jinkx draws her knees up onto the cushion and leans her chin into them, looking beyond the field at the moon. “Nothing much. I pinched a twin today, it's always gross.”

Trixie doesn't buy it for a second. She reaches up and rubs the bottom of Jinkx’ neck over her silky red hair.

Jinkx eventually opens up. “I'm not a fan of Western medicine when I have to be the patient. It’s scary feeling stranded out here sometimes.” Now Trixie squeezes Jinkx’ shoulder and pushes it back to face her.

“Don't be cryptic. Is something going on?”

Jinkx’ face relaxes in an assuring smile and she shakes her head. “No. No, and I wouldn't keep it from you. I would need you too much.” She reaches up and strokes Trixie’s wrist. “Please release your vice grip now.”

“Not yet.”

“Oh barf, gay.”

Trixie puts her other hand to her chest, feigning tears and a choked voice. “Thank you for saving me from myself.” Jinkx chuckles with her tongue between her teeth. “I really do need help.”

“Honestly Trix, from everything you've told me, Katya’s  _good_. Just good. Don’t worry so much.” Jinkx takes one more drag off the joint before passing to Trixie to finish it. “Well, worry about, you know … being worthless garbage.”

“Yeah, there's always that,” Trixie giggles over her frazzled nerves.

“Old faithful,” Jinkx warbles. This in-joke started several years ago when Trixie was in a tailspin while taking over all the additional aspects of ownership from Tammie. Jinkx came by her office with food and calming scented candles and weed and nothing worked. So in the middle of the night when Trixie starfished face down after a tantrum, Jinkx crouched down, gently tucked her splayed curls back behind her ear and said just above a whisper in her most supportive, compassionate voice, “Whatever happens, you are Trixie Mattel, and you're worthless garbage.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Everywhere" by Fleetwood Mac. It's forever my love song :) 
> 
> ETA for anyone checking in: next chapter is in progress while I'm reworking a lot of what I thought I had worked out. More soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have seen many say before me: I am very anxious posting this chapter and comments feel good. Really appreciate the encouragement, every single one of you counts! 
> 
> I don't know what else to say, if it's not for you then be free, enjoy something else.

_**T: I’ll be bold and assume you're pretty available, out here all alone growing a beard in leaves of grass?** _

_**K: I’m pretty and available, yes.** _  
_**And I have 100% time for Walt** _

_**T: Ha!** _  
_**Asking you in, I’m too exhausted to go out** _  
_**Tuesday?** _  
_**Or Friday** _

_**K: Tuesday!** _  
_**Get rest** _

Katya wakes up early on Tuesday. 4:40am. Even for her it's way too soon to get up but she already has butterflies and decides she won't try going back to sleep.

Trixie works more or less seven days a week often starting before dawn, and it's been two weeks since she first asked Katya to “make it up to her” for ditching the party. But Katya finds it easier to mooch around the stables outside of her regular lessons now that she knows Trixie likes when she’s there. She’s too busy to spend much time with but makes an effort at brief conversations, especially when the stars align and no one else is around for a couple minutes in the office or tack room.

Despite Ginger’s implication that all Trixie does is play with horses, her main job entails either working with a horse who she really cares about or the client who she has to care about. She’s good at both ends of it, and people trust her. And she’s got the bird’s eye view of the whole enterprise, ensuring that all the pieces of the business move rhythmically even if she’s farmed out the quotidien grind to others. To those who work for her it may look like Trixie has it easy. Ginger and Willam work the most closely with her day in, day out but with their eyes ready to roll, and Courtney seems to slide around Trixie along an invisible perimeter.

If feeling defensive on Trixie’s behalf about all her unseen work stress and responsibility isn’t a sign of lesbian romance in bloom …

That morning Katya stretches and pulls her hair away from the pillow to dry her neck and free some tangles from the night. She usually sleeps in shorts and a grungy t-shirt until it smells too bad for her to stand but out here she sleeps in underwear because the house is too old to be air conditioned. She took over the better of the two guest rooms after trying two nights in her old room with its twin bed and Miss Havisham vibe. Her parents’ old bedroom has the best view but she can’t have an orgasm in there, on principle. This room opens onto a shared veranda with the other guest room and she doesn't feel any guilt about smoking out there. Katya would go out for a smoke now but she wants something else more.

From where they were rubbing at her scalp, Katya drags her fingernails down her neck and chest between her breasts, down to her navel and back, turning her fingers over to the pads so she's covered in gooseflesh. She bounces her fingertips along the softest parts of her breasts and makes lazy scratches around the fullest curve of them. One of her nails is shredding before it needs to be cut and it’s perfect for this. Her nipples get dark pink and rough like coral and she squeezes her left breast while sliding her hand down to push off her underwear. She shakes her head at the light pull and snap where the fabric was grafting itself to her ass by whatever had dried from last night’s dream. Morning sex can be awesome, but stupid stuff like that is what Katya really misses sharing with someone. Everything is more of a thrill when you can disturb the peace of the person next to you, especially if you’re in love with them. _Out here all alon--ugh no, fuck off vibe killer_.

With a sigh Katya pulls the airy comforter all the way up, building up excess body heat. She thinks of Trixie’s breath and hand on her back and what would have happened in _her_ ending, the one where no one squicks over an unsexy tattoo. In that ending, Katya turns around and squeezes her knees around Trixie’s thighs and pushes her own swimsuit down to her waist. Slow enough for Trixie to see how her tits pop up when she pulls the straps off like she’s still in her 20s because she’s proud of it. And when Trixie’s mouth falls open enough to reveal her pink tongue she drops down to lick it the disgusting way she thought was normal in middle school.

She thinks about Trixie’s peachy naked mouth with nothing on it but her own lips. And the tendons of her inner thighs twitching against Trixie's stomach. Trixie’s strong hands shoveling under the backside of her swimsuit, appreciating each of her small plump cheeks.

Just then Katya clenches her fist to recall how hard Trixie gripped her hand while catching her breath. She feels that hand clutched in Trixie’s hair at the base of her neck while the other plunges through the warm violet tinted water, down the cutout in the darker pink half of Trixie’s swimsuit. The last part Katya manages before she ditches the fantasy is to lean her mouth on Trixie’s ear and ask if she thinks anyone would respect her if they heard her moan like this. She'd love Trixie to throw her head back with laughter at this and scream louder, bounce Katya’s ass into her with the edges of her short square acrylic nails. 

Now Katya can slip through herself easily and she's tossed the blanket aside with sweat gripping her arm to her stomach. The muscles in her upper thighs are becoming more defined and although they've always been strong she’s really feeling the visible lines. They're also pale next to her tan arms and the contrast sparks a flash of another person’s body in bed with hers. Her fingers slide over the wishbone branches of her clit in long, deep strokes, the most affectionate touch she's known since adolescence. She always has to remind herself to make noise when she's alone and each time her throat vibrates her whole body moves faster in response.

She almost comes and stops herself with a huff through her lips, quickly reaches for a box she's kept nearby waiting for the time she’ll want it which is now. Opening the lid she touches the gleaming steel plug and lifts it by its loop, silver and elegant and heavy. It’s always struck Katya how much this kind looks like old fashioned silver baby rattles from Tiffany & Co, which either speaks to what adults have shoved up their asses or what babies have mistaken for their toys over the centuries.

Katya jumps into the bathroom and runs hot water. Waiting a couple minutes will only make her more sensitive, but she’s still quick to wash her hands, wet a washcloth and warm up the plug before eagerly darting back into bed. The sun is coming through the windows enough now that she can see what she’s doing as she gets pangs of desperate nostalgia.

But this isn’t the time to get tense, Katya reminds herself gently, in an attempt to be a partner she would prefer to do all of this for her. She wills herself not to think of Kameron, how she didn’t expect Kameron would talk with her friends about their ass play but then obviously did because that’s how she got the recommendation for this very plug. It somehow made her love her even more, before she’d told her she loved her at all. 

She tries not to think of any of that. 

The whole ritual is kind of a lot to stare down, but when she does it Katya feels like she's part of the population who sees the checkbox for 'yes, I choose to get off as thoroughly hard as I possibly can without causing harm in the process.' and magic markers it in red. With the asterisk that all fears of deviance and oblivion still apply. 

First she spreads lube around her fingertips and presses one inside, letting herself relax around it. When she can slide the first inch or so in and out easily she adds one more. It feels too tight, so she takes a few breaths and adds more lube to her fingers and tries again with one finger, then two. It works fine eventually, and it's been a while since she's tried at all. Before reaching for the plug she rubs her fingers clean again with the vaguely lukewarm washcloth. This at least gives her a few focused seconds to take more deep breaths, move over every muscle she can consciously release. After coating the end of it, she draws up one knee and rocks the plug at her entrance, enjoying just that sensation alone, and bites just a little bit of the inside of her lip to keep the rest of her face from contracting. Without rushing, she feels the slightest burn and knows she can smoothly push the rest in with a big exhale of her breath. 

The rest is what she’s earned. She tips her hips back and forth and feels the steel ball and tip press inside her, giving her a brief rush of achievement and satisfaction. Energized, Katya tucks her heels back far enough that she can nearly sit on them. She wishes she had a mirror to see it all but still spreads wide and slaps her right hand between her legs, swollen and dripping back into her ass. The loud wet smack echos and her other hand flies up to her breast, digging and tugging at it. 

She likes to fuck herself stomach-down grinding onto her hand, smothering her face into a spinning wheel of women’s bodies shapeshifting into each other faster than her conscious mind can keep up with.

But right now Katya wants to be the one. She pushes her back against the mattress; makes her tits bounce; pulls her hair; grasps her jaw between her thumb and forefinger; spins a scrambled message of encouragements and incoherent threats. She's only got her non-dominant hand to work with but after a few practice swings she lands a loud cracking smack right on her hip bone. It stings her hand which she didn’t think of and she yelps, startled by the hurt and sound. 

It works. It electrifies the sensations through her ass and the backs of her thighs. She rubs over her clit at double the speed, sitting up straining to force more pressure onto it and with a few chesty moans she comes, rocking her tailbone into the soft bed. Birds chirp on the veranda like the only Disney princess movie Katya would ever want to see.

\--

Trixie told Katya 6pm so she’s a little surprised to hear gravel churning in her driveway 20 minutes early. A little annoyed, too, she'd wanted that time to relax. But it's sweet, and she knows she would have just spent the time pacing and pounding the floor until Katya showed up.

She made sure to leave plenty of time getting ready, started earlier than she had to and dried her hair into soft waves and curled the ends. Struggled to rectify how she ever had the patience to heat style all this hair multiple times a week.

Makeup only took her a few extra minutes because she doesn't even have anything heavier than tinted lotion with SPF for being outside nearly all day. For tonight she added eyeshadow and liner, vaguely aware of how long ago she bought them which was well past the little expiration emblems printed on the packaging. Aside from that Trixie has a rarely accessed drawer full of various shades of pink lipstick, lipgloss, lipliner. Not accessed tonight.

She chose a thin lavender peasant blouse and nice jean shorts as opposed to the trashy pair she had on when she ran into Katya at the grocery store that bizarre night a month or so ago. Her skin needs to breathe after working under jeans in mid-July heat, plus she took extra time to shave her legs.

Glancing in the small mirror right by the front door, Trixie knows her young, pink, lacquered, high heeled self would genuinely think she’s gorgeous.

Katya looks smoking hot walking up her driveway. Plain and simple. As always she’s in all black but this top is slinky and shimmery with a few sequins scattered along it. And she’s swapped out her tight pants for short black shorts. Muscle movement is part of Trixie’s industry and she can viscerally appreciate everything going on with Katya’s legs. When she’s halfway from her car to the door her perfume hits Trixie’s nose; small hands around her lungs. It’s intense, and floral perfumes sometimes give Trixie a headache but it’s warm and rosy and she hasn’t smelled it on her before so she likes the feeling it gives her. Katya’s curled her dark, silky hair in soft waves over her shoulders with a little red jeweled pin glittering on either side. And her arms are just … Trixie puts her hand to her mouth to clear her throat. The muscles starting to show through the elaborate, twisting black and grey tattoos make Trixie’s shorts feel tighter between her legs as she leans forward instinctively. _Fuck me up._

Katya leans up to kiss her cheek, taking Trixie’s wrists and leaning up on her toes to do so, and Trixie sees a few flakes of her black mascara on her inner eye. She steps back just before Trixie would have.

“You look great,” Trixie tells her through a balloon in her chest she's tied down tightly. 

“I know you said I didn’t need to bring anything but I brought everything instead,” Katya blurts out. Trixie hadn't yet noticed the bags of food looped through Katya's fingers so she jerks her head back. “I just thought, ‘what would a total cunt do’, and bringing an assortment of prepared vegetarian food that requires no cooking or cleanup was the best I could come up with,” Katya laughs as she walks them towards the kitchen, hoisting them onto Trixie’s countertop.

“Okay, you talk too fast for me to react! Thank you.” Trixie feels like an ass now even as Katya chuckles. Not as much about the food, though she could have been more gracious. What else is new. No, she feels like an ass for what she’s about to suggest and she’ll kill Jinkx if this stupid ‘cute’ idea crashes and burns.

“Let’s bring this outside. I have something to show you.”

“Ooh, absolutely!” Katya is so damn bubbly and trusting Trixie winces and questions again what would have been so bad about planning a normal date, like dinner at a nearby shitty overpriced hetero restaurant. She promised herself she won't panic-text Jinkx until 7pm at least. So for now she’s got to hang on and see how Katya reacts.

Katya balances a few containers in each hand using her chin to secure one stack of them. When Trixie grabs plates and silverware she insists she brought everything disposable, not wanting to leave any mess for her to clean up. She catches Trixie smiling to herself as she puts the dishes back, tries to keep them from clinking. It’s hard to imagine her being so hard up for some wooing that plastic forks could make her blush. 

She follows Trixie through her living room and out the rear sliding door onto a large sprawling patio with crisp grey and cream rattan furniture with rosy pink accent pillows, all under a white pergola. One of the containers is leaking oil onto her chin and about to Jenga itself onto a pristine cream colored cushion, and Katya whimpers to get Trixie’s attention.

“Oh ha! Sorry,” Trixie says right before she rescues the precarious stack of containers and sets them on her teakwood coffee table. Katya smiles when Trixie licks the oil from her finger without questioning what she chose for them to eat.

Once all the food’s been laid out Katya turns and notices a couple of big boxes leaned up right outside the sliding door. She steps closer and leans in to confirm … the Ikea logo on the side. She straightens herself with her arms folded in front, points to them.

“Is this is what you want to show me?” she grins. Trixie stands in front of the boxes with her nails scratching lazily at her forehead, won’t even meet her eye. “Trixie,” Katya taunts as she closes the few feet between them, “Is this … what you want me for?”

Katya waits for her to look up and jumps an eyebrow. Trixie is chewing on gum, something Katya hasn’t noticed her doing before and she thinks she would have. That plus the big waves with curled ends down her back and the fucking adorable ‘angels descend and fluff my tits every morning before I wake up’ top is giving her a major 70s country babe vibe. Trixie presses one of her lasting manicured nails into the pad of her thumb.

“You claimed to be a genius. And my nails are barely hanging in there.” Katya's jiggling her knees, threatening to burst. “Whatever, you loved building all that stuff for me _and_ I did drive actual hours and back to get these. So I put a little effort in.”

“Trixie, this is the weirdest non-traumatic thing that's ever happened on a first date for me and I'm totally good with it.” She’s grasped Trixie's wrists again, gently pressed her thumbs into the pudgy white underside of her tanned forearms. Trixie can smack that fuck-off flavored gum all she wants, she's sweating and Katya likes it to an extent but doesn't want to push it. She’s learning there are many shades of ‘annoyed’ or otherwise displeased Trixie. Some are lovable, others are tense but fun; and then there are a couple she’d rather avoid.

“Can I borrow a shirt?”

“What?” Katya hears a bubble pop in Trixie’s throat.

“A t-shirt, so you can deal with my sweaty laundry tomorrow.” Katya goes back in the house and calls out from inside. “I’m getting my cigarettes and smoking out on your patio.”

The t-shirt Trixie brings her is the smallest she has and Katya still looks like a child wearing a short nightgown. A child with wildly inappropriate makeup and a red lipstick-smudged cigarette dangling from her mouth.

“This is how my cousin in Russia looked like in her kindergarten class photo.” Katya knots the extra fabric at the side and unboxes the pieces.

When her hair hangs down, Trixie brings her an elastic but Katya declines it. Katya feels her hands on her shoulders then she's tying her hair back for her, says it’s bothering her to see it fall in her face. Trixie’s fingers in her hair suck all the air out of Katya's body.

\--

The boot cubby for Trixie’s entryway would have taken 20 minutes if Katya focused on it. But on top of chatting with Trixie she takes cigarette breaks; breaks to sit with a glass of wine; breaks to pick over the food--like the potato salad Trixie almost polishes off before Katya notices, and makes no apology for because it's her favorite. Every now and then she remembers to complain just to bait Trixie into hurling jabs from her perch on the long cream cushions, whether it’s about her height, her smoking, her wandering lipstick. And finally there’s one long meandering break to search the patio and the surrounding grass for a tiny metal rod that goes astray when Trixie ‘helps’ by tearing open the bag of parts and scattering them.

“This is not in my skill set!” she whines.

“No shit,” Katya laughs deeply, still a little tipsy. She’s already found it but hasn’t told Trixie, just so she can stare at her butt and squishy backs of her thighs while she shines her phone under the patio furniture.

When Trixie raises from the ground and leans back on her calves with a halo of blond hair around her face, flushed blood red from being tipped upside down, Katya wiggles the rod between her fingers, giggling in an evil staccato. Trixie pushes up, ineffectively pats down the hairdo that’s gotten away from her, and stalks over. She pauses and leans into Katya’s ear before walking back into the house, puffing warm breath over her ear and jaw that makes her eyes roll under their lids.

“Why don’t you eat it and shut the fuck up?”

Katya follows her in still laughing at herself and gets another idea.

“Oh! Do you have a sharpie?”

When Trixie goes to another room to find one, Katya changes back into her regular top and takes her hair down. She’s fixing the little twisty pieces with her bobby pins jammed between her teeth just as Trixie walks in with the requested pen and halts nearby.

“You’re leaving?”

“What? No, I’m dressing in my clothes again, unless you’re willing to cough up something with a _huge_ sequined kitten on it, because I would totally wear that within these four walls.”

“Ha!” Trixie screeches, her full body reeling back. Katya likes how Trixie becomes more loud and flamboyant with time. She hands Katya the pen and goes back out to bring the finished cubby in.

Katya almost offers to help her but she doesn't mind seeing Trixie carry it in with one hand like a paper bag, wild curls shaking along with her bare legs as she stomps. She didn't bring dessert but Trixie has fat dimples above her knees Katya would love to bite.

Trixie settles the cubby where she wants it. “What’s the pen for?” Katya looks up at her through her lashes and steps to the cubby, turns it so the back faces out and kneels down. She uncaps the Sharpie with her teeth.

“What are you doing?” Trixie asks with a slight shriek. Katya smirks a little around the pen cap as she starts to draw on the raw side of the compressed wood back panel.

In the top right corner, she draws the outline of a pig with a ‘K’ in the middle. If her instincts are wrong she's prepared to go down in a blaze of glory. Hesitating a moment as another wave of chemical smell hits her, she draws a heart around it all, sits back and looks up at Trixie, now crouched down beside her.

All Trixie can think is she never meant to make her feel bad that night at Tammie's when Katya was letting her get so close. On any of the occasions she made her feel bad that night, from the ones she let roll off to the one that made her literally physically run. She's so open and willing and happy and doesn't deserve to get shit on. _Specifically doesn't deserve my shit_.

Trixie can wait out an awkward silence better than anyone she knows but right now she would love to say something, anything. Her mouth feels so empty and dry, and her calves and ankles burn from balancing on her toes. She reaches out to steady herself and grips Katya's shoulder. Her skin is hot and the muscle flexes under Trixie’s hand, and Trixie is done for.

Her knees hit the thinned, mud-stained wood floor where she’s pushed off her dirty boots thousands of times over the last eight years. She swears she feels the blood vessels rupture right over the bones where bruises will pop up before she even makes it to bed tonight. When the burn dies back a bit she clasps her hands around Katya's ears so she can kiss her as gently as she likes, her cool, dark hair squeezed between her fingers.

But when she sees Katya's petal red lips parting she just wants her mouth to be full of her and she kisses them too hard. Katya smiles into it just the same and kisses her back, spreads her hands on the tops of Trixie’s thighs. Trixie shifts her hips at the touch and a tiny part of her wants to pull Katya underneath her, but not enough. When she feels Katya's nails scratch under the hems of her shorts the want explodes so she leans back, pops her mouth off Katya's and grasps her fingers, moving them off her thighs.

She lets Katya cover her hands with her own, her slim warm fingers resting between Trixie’s knuckles. The red jewels in her hair sparkle when she dips her head down and nods.

“That was really nice,” Katya says, seemingly to the room. The thought that Katya is being strangely shy crosses her mind just before she sees her huge grin and her silent cackle shaking in her chest. “I can't believe you fucking _pounced_ me, I was ready to sweep you off your feet!”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try! I didn’t pounce, I fucking fell into you--”

Katya’s lips are on hers again. Her tongue slides under her bottom lip and Trixie moans before catching the tip of it, a warm ache fluttering through layers of swollen wet skin, fat, muscle, and bone. Katya’s arms rest on her shoulders and her knees brace around her hips, barely touching the floor. She’s a full head above Trixie now and Trixie feels Katya’s thighs pulling her up. She doesn’t move but the sensation of being lifted, of having Katya above her, is enough to feel swept.

“Enough?” Katya asks. Trixie can’t tell if she’s reading her mind or she’s asking if they should stop there. She answers anyway.

“Yeah. _That_ was really nice.”

\--

After they clean up the dinner leftovers Trixie walks Katya to her car with her hands shoved in her back pockets to help her feel casual. It’s pitch dark out, later than Trixie would normally be in bed when she has to be up early as usual the next morning. Even though her floodlights shine on them from the front steps, the stars appear in full contrast pricking the sky open. 

While both lean against the driver’s side before Katya climbs in, she tells Katya she needs to go slow and then immediately regrets saying it. They're more than adults, and Katya didn't ask for an explanation for why she won't sleep with her tonight. If she had Trixie would have told her to fuck right off and give Courtney a call on her way out.

It’s not untrue, she does need to go slow. But mostly she doesn't want Katya to leave with any false impressions she can clear up here and now.

When Katya shrugs with a smile and a polite touch to her arm, Trixie pulls her left hand from her back pocket and grasps under Katya’s ass to pull her across the single step between them, her fingertips fanned over the bare backs of Katya’s thighs pulling upwards. Katya's sturdy legs buckle with a gasp and Trixie bends her knee up to slot between them, catching her, the toes of her sweet little suede boots dragging in the gravel. Still leaning comfortably against the car while Katya is unmoored, Trixie tilts down the rest of the way to give her one more taste of her tongue. When she ends the kiss and lets her find the ground, Katya staggers back to the driver’s seat, rubs at her inner leg with the heel of her palm. Katya grins and shakes her head with sober, heavy eyes aimed straight into hers until the moment she drives away. Trixie’s thigh feels damp and cool in the breeze where she stands watching the taillights turn away from her, her too-soft feet bare on the sharp gravel and crossed at the ankles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No promises for when the next chapter will post but the whole thing is being worked on constantly :) 
> 
> Hit me up on Tumblr if you like, mattepinkallshades.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot of dialogue, and a LOT of story. There's a big curveball, if you see the tags you'll have an idea of it. This is a hard story to wrangle! But I've worked through this chapter a lot, and I hope it works and doesn't feel like too much of a jolt. 
> 
> Let me know what you think :)

Katya’s hurting for it. She’s started tying her hair back tight because she can’t let it slink around her face and shoulders. 

“How's about a bowl at my place with Adore tonight?” Katya snaps her head to face Courtney. They're watching a new instructor give a lesson.

“A bowl? A door?”

“Adore. The girl I'm seeing. Surely you remember the Biebs? You and Ginger do have quite a vocal range you know, especially when you're hen pecking.”

“Shit.” Katya gives her most apologetic, charming grin. “I’m sorry, that whole night was like a stress test and I shit myself at every pass.”

“Is that how you fail a stress test?

“That is how _I_ fail stress tests.”

“It's cool. So, what say you? Tonight, whether or not you partake? Just figured you might want to hang out some time _outside_ the manure pile.”

“I would! But I have plans already, I'm so sorry.”

Her ‘plans’ are what she hopes she can wrangle from Trixie. She knows it's not for lack of want, they're seeing each other as often as they can but Trixie is relentlessly committed to work coming first. It's commendable. It builds plenty of sexual tension in between dates. It's a total fucking drag.

“No worries, next time perhaps.”

Later in the afternoon, she hikes halfway into the rear lush green paddock towards Trixie who stands with a chestnut horse, her cheek on his forehead while she scratches his fuzzy orange ear. Katya slows down to watch and her stomach jumps just a little, far less than it would have a month ago, when the horse flings his head up and flicks Trixie back a bit. Trixie just giggles to herself, takes off his halter and he trots away.

This horse’s owner is flaky, slow to pay the monthly bill so the horse sometimes lives off the stables’ resources. The queer little barn hands like Chelsea take a special liking to these cases and they get plenty of extra kisses and treats, sometimes too much of the latter. Jinkx recently posted about the risks of overfeeding horses and used a cute photo of the horse greedily chomping a carrot as an example. Trixie was only aware of it when she heard about it from a high strung client in a tizzy that their horse might be overfed while they were away for the summer.

Trixie had bitched to Katya about this mild drama a week earlier while she lay on the couch in Trixie’s upstairs office waiting for her to be done for the evening. She’d spent the time and effort freshening up the main office space for Ginger and everyone else’s use but hers remained furnished with dark lacquered wood furniture that must have come from Tammie’s collection when she originally set the space up. The couch didn’t match it, just an old black leather couch with decaying foam escaping the seams. Not Trixie at all. She wondered why she didn’t make it nicer. 

As a tangent to their conversation and thinking of sweet little weirdo Chelsea, Katya asked her if she ever thought of making the whole LGBTQ aspect of Marigold more front and center. For the teens who find it to be a safe haven, specifically. 

“Horse people pretty much abide by ‘don't ask don't tell’. People will know, obviously, but it's not something most of us broadcast.” She was entering progress notes, looking at her laptop screen like it was reaching out and scratching her dry eyes.

“Uh, Willam?” Katya laughed as she envisioned his penchant for neon crop tops.

Trixie smirked and rubbed one of her eyes. “Straight men wear rhinestones to show their horses. No matter how he reads, do you see him standing next to a boyfriend or fuckboy or whoever he would have?”

She sat upright. “What do I get to be? Boyfriend or fuckboy?”

Trixie dropped her head in her hands and wailed. “Not anything if you don't let me finish this!”

That's where the conversation about queers in the horse world ended that night, and making out on Trixie’s office couch commenced. She let Trixie take her time kissing the curves where her tattooed petals ended and muscle lines began. 

“The lighting in your office is homophobic. I look much sexier at your place.”

“You don't need to look any sexier. Just let me think pornographically about your body art.”

“I wouldn't have pegged you for someone who’d be so into it.”

“I'm not usually. In Colorado I had to overlook plenty of barbed wire and tribal arm bands, or those Kokopelli flute men.”

“Ohh, are we talking exes finally?”

“Not my ex.” _Singular_ . _One ex for ten-ish years in the mountains. Got it._

“Just all the broken hearts you left strewn over the Rockies?”

Trixie finally looked up. “We can head out now.”

\--

Now, after witnessing her rejoice in farm girl splendor, Katya’s plan to walk up and smack Trixie hard on the ass just feels vulgar. She decides it's an ill-advised plan anyway; from a physics perspective, the force of her hand against Trixie’s denim-to-butt ratio could ricochet her out to the Atlantic.

Instead she steps close and touches her hips, leans up to kiss her when she turns. Trixie snaps her face up and pulls back. A dry burn pours from Katya’s cheeks down her throat into her stomach.

“What are you doing?” She swallows a laugh and looks over Katya’s shoulder towards the main grounds. “Come here.”

Trixie takes Katya by the tips of her fingers over to the run in shed by the fence.

“What, is your pa gonna chase me with a shotgun?” Katya jokes once they’re fully covered.

“I can't assume clients and people in general around here would just be okay with that.”

“Hmm. Can you be … less of a cunt when you’re uncomfortable?” Trixie laughs off the notion, dipping far enough for Katya to notice delicate twisted crow’s feet in her cleavage. Shiny with sweat and shimmering with dirt. Lickable. Unfair. She pushes Trixie’s work ponytail behind her neck and squeezes her shoulders. 

“Then be really, really sweet when you're being sweet.” Trixie grins and tips her head up. Katya sees her chewing that gum again. It’s obnoxious, childish even. “I’m serious.” She fingers between two of her shirt buttons and tugs her neck down just a little by the fabric. “Tell me what you look forward to when you know you're gonna see me.”

Trixie raises her eyebrows. “There's a lot.” Katya gives her a smug wink. Trixie rubs at her own flushed cheeks with her thumb and forefinger, thinking a minute.

“It’s when you first pull in,” she answers, bringing the same hand down to tap against her thigh in a fist. “‘Cause it’s the longest time before you leave again.” Her cheeks round into little red apples.

Katya pushes her to the inner wall of the shed. Stood up on her toes she kisses her right cheek and puffs warm air around her ear. Trixie’s stomach fills with breath and presses against hers. 

“You could have had me a long time ago, you idiot,” she mumbles between her teeth grazing Trixie’s cotton soft earlobe. Trixie snorts and pushes her shoulders off.

“No shit? When I shut the door on you yammering the day we met, I distinctly heard a panther screeching behind me.”

\--

She accepted Katya's offer to cook them some kind of seafood pasta dish but warned her she'll have no time to look nice. She’ll be getting home from work and jumping in the shower and smelling clean is as good as it gets. Katya is happy with all of that.

Once home, Trixie uses her feet to push each boot off and tucks them into her new boot cubby, the sight of which drags a small smile out of her even on her grumpiest, sleepiest entrances and exits. She leaves the door unlocked so Katya can let herself in if she arrives while she's still in the shower. 

The sleeveless blouse she unbuttons as she runs up the stairs is part of a collection she's acquired since coming home, none of them from her ten years in Colorado despite the aesthetic. Faded cotton flannel sunset colors in plaid and checks. An outfit equals whatever’s at the top of the clean stack of shirts plus one of a few pairs of identical jeans and boots, done. When she thinks back on the money she used to piss away on junky satin bra and underwear sets alone, she’d probably take it all now and buy an old beat up pickup truck just to stick on her front lawn to give the uptight neighbor across the street a thrill.

Katya's teeth on her ear was like a hammer to a tuning fork and Trixie’s thought of it over and over for hours. If she could manage it in time she would absolutely get herself off in the shower. Jinkx was obviously kidding when she teased her that someone else could feel how much pounding another person's taken from sex toys. Trixie’s more legitimate concern is how to come without them. And how long she’s gone without (wanting) anyone to pound her. 

Her legs pulse knowing Katya is getting closer to her every minute. It wouldn’t be a bad experiment, she thinks, to see if that helps a little. She can see the time clearly on the digital clock on her vanity outside the shower. And she thinks she’ll hear the front door, if Katya were to arrive early as she often does. She’ll be furious if she arrives so early she can’t finish what’s already starting to feel really, really good just while rinsing her thighs.

Trixie leans her forehead on her arm against the tile. The stream hits her lower back and flows heavy around her hips and between her cheeks, dripping under her into loud splashes below as she strokes three fingers quickly over her clit. She can’t get nearly enough pressure this way but everything below her navel tightens and warms each time she thinks of Katya and that does some of the work for her.

She’d die to feel Katya behind her right now moving with her and talking to her. Not even really touching her, just encouraging her, drawing her palms in circles around her hips telling her how good she’s doing. It's easy to imagine her low rumbly voice and she lets herself moan softly in response. A burst of wetness bubbles between her fingers and she uses it to ease over skin that’s become too tender and dry from the water rinsing through her.

She reluctantly turns her face to the clock knowing it will sabotage her. As the minutes drain away it dawns on her what a fucking terrible idea this was. If she fails, she has to spend the evening at full. tilt. aroused. And it will physically ache, not in a pining romantic way. In a ‘get away from me or I'll bite’ kind of way, an attitude she's still a little bit in trouble for from this morning. No chewing gum can soak that up.

Her front door slams shut. She’s relieved for a few seconds until she realizes that the pulses under her slow fingers are connecting to each other with the knowledge that Katya is here. Her forehead trembles thinking if she's actually going to pull this off. She could just … call out her name and see what happens.

\--

Katya takes out the ingredients to make frutti di mare for them when she hears Trixie call her name from upstairs. It sounds like she’s still in the shower. She yells back up to confirm she’s here.

The water is boiling and the sauce is simmering when Trixie bounces down the stairs and throws Katya for a loop. No bra-- _praise all possible earthly influences_ \--a bright white t-shirt, and sleep shorts. Her face is completely bare and scrubbed pink like the rest of her skin and her hair is down and fluffed with steam. 

Katya’s skin prickles just before Trixie brushes past and bumps her into the counter. She doesn’t react, just cuts thick, pulpy slices of tomato and thinks of what she’d do if they were together. The fact that she didn't even say hello has her forefinger wobbling on top of the knife. Katya decides to wait it out, see how long before one of them cracks. Trixie’s good at holding out but she can give it a try.

When the pasta and sauce have cooked and been mixed and neither of them has made a sound aside from Trixie breathing loudly through her nose as she pulls plates off the shelf, Katya pulls the valve. As soon as Trixie comes back to carry their wine glasses out to the patio Katya stops her hands and pins them to the counter behind her.

She hovers under Trixie’s open mouth for a few seconds before breaking into a toothy grin. “What’s up?”

\--

Katya tries not to bask in how impressed Trixie is with her cooking. She knows this is as good as it gets from her repertoire and assures Trixie it’s downhill from here.

“I want to know about you and … girlfriends,” Katya says in a demonic voice, knowing no better way to burn down that door.

“Oh God,” Trixie says finishing a mouthful, “um--”

“I'm sorry, I should know by now all the things you don't like to talk about. I’ll just leave.” She plays at crossing in front of Trixie when Trixie throws a leg on the table in front of the couch to block her. Katya bumps her leg, feels her round calf wobble back against her.

She sinks down to sit alongside her. “I just … kinda wanna know more. Like recent even?”

“There is no recent. Truly, there just isn’t.” Katya leans her elbow back watching Trixie’s fork spin linguini on her plate. Trixie licks her lips and swallows, puts her plate on the table. “I had one girlfriend for most of college and after that I just kinda did what I liked.”

“Well I can understand that. You were working a lot, too.” _If I have to pull every crooked tooth out, I’ll do it._

“Yeah.”

Katya’s sweating where she’s pressed against Trixie and it’s not from attraction. She sits back on the other end of the couch “Okay, paint me the Colorado lesbian scene. I'm picturing like, NASCAR dykes, hippie witches, park rangers and--”

“Barbie and the lonely military wives.” Trixie poses with her hands on her shoulders.

“What?” Katya giggles.

“Um, I think you heard me right. Colorado, post 9/11? It's a red state, covered in Air Force bases. Mostly in Denver. And 'they weren't gay' but their husbands were gone and it was a very confusing time," she says in her valley girl voice. 

“Whoa!” Katya’s hands are in her own hair pulling it in all directions and leaving it where it lands. “That is amazing. That is _amazing._ Like … ‘Hi I’m Trixie Mattel, the lesbian answer to Marilyn Monroe here to service your wife’s abandoned pussy during wartime.’”

“Ha!” Trixie feels reanimated and Katya looks so enthralled, she’s happy to indulge her fantasies. The only one she’s talked to at greater length than this about Colorado is Jinkx, who did not find it quite so amusing. And Tammie knows all the messy details, of course. _When Tammie had to pick up all my pieces and bring me home._

“You have to have some photos of this, I need a visual on this suspect.”

“I’d have to dig for physical prints or maybe a memory card.”

“Use your words, I know you can.” 

“Uhh ... Tightpinkplastic? You know,” she squeezes her hands down over her ribs and stomach in an hourglass silhouette. “And like,” her fingertips draw sharp points out to her temples. “I preferred to think of Shirley Manson as my inspiration but people saw what they wanted. If it weren't for work I probably would have dyed my hair pink.”

“Oh yes God, that is a reference. I mean I still have like, aspirational looks if I ever tire of being lazy as fuck with my black cat chic.”

“Oh yeah? Like wha--”

“1980s lesbian literary agent, disinterested, pissed off Ellen Barkin fantasy.”

Trixie laughs at how easily it comes out, like this look is on ice ready to roll. And she knows exactly how it would look on Katya.

“I’d fuck any version of Ellen Barkin. Or you.”

Katya’s eyes and mouth flutter and she swallows before shifting the topic back. “So, how did you meet them? Were they like, in da club?” Her voice is cracking and Trixie can feel the thread stretching thinner. She was foolish to think she’d feel a little relief tonight after her shower. She can't deny it though, it’s not just Katya turning her on.

“God no. I did meet the first woman, Shea, on a rare night I went out. She lived on base and her husband was away.” She examines and picks at her nails which have been free of the acrylics for weeks. “And when her straight friends took an interest in me, she didn’t mind my interest in them. The rest just ... ” She waves it away with a flick of her wrist.

Her legs won’t keep still. She's fixated on Katya seated across the couch with her legs butterflied open, still in her riding tights from earlier. She has no complaints.

Katya isn't sure what she wants to or is allowed to ask. And it's hard to focus even though she wants to know more about this; not when she's thinking Trixie couldn't have seen yet another pulse shooting through the root of her clit but she could see her tighten around it. Confusing times.

“So you'd fuck any version of me,” she finally says. Trixie laughs. “Care to elaborate?”

“Ha! What's left to elaborate?”

“Elaborate, please.”

“I'm _going_ to fuck you. Katya.”

Katya points in Trixie’s face. “You literally said that directly to my pussy.” Trixie looks up with wide eyes. She has no cover.

“I didn't mean to!”

“Well she heard it, and she is shaking.” Katya can practically hear the rope knot tighten inside herself. Trixie is bright red and trying to keep eye contact with her but her eyes keep darting. She's not going to close her legs now. Instead she props her elbow on the pink pillow she's leaned into and lets her hand brush over the thick stitched seam down the center of her riding tights. On the off chance it could be missed, she sweeps her index finger up the seam.

Trixie kneels on the couch and reaches behind to pull her t-shirt off in one smooth movement. Her puffy blonde hair clouds around her shoulders.

“See something ya’ like?”

Katya pounds her fist into the cushion wheezing a laugh. “You far surpass P.J. Soles, baby.”

Trixie squeals and descends upon her. Katya can’t quite believe she's in the backyard with the sunset lighting Trixie’s skin bare from the waist up, just two roads over from the pasture where she wouldn't kiss her a few hours ago. Katya is chasing her neck with her mouth when one of her heavy breasts drags up across her lips. She whimpers and stretches open to draw in her nipple, tonguing into the peach pit texture like she's sucking something sweet from each crevice. Trixie hisses and curses above her, her arms trying to keep her hips at least some distance above Katya, for what reason Katya hasn't a fucking clue. Katya's breath hitches when the weight of Trixie’s breast falls into her nose and she makes a nasally, smothered moan under it. Her hands have been light over Trixie's ass because she seems to like that but now she grabs up as much of the barely covered fat as she can get in each of her hands. She squeezes hard with her fingers and Trixie pulls back with a yelp, covering her chest.

“Bitch, I’m not numb back there!”

“Thank God, what a waste that would be. Too hard?”

Trixie blows some strands of hair from her mouth and smirks while she pulls her t-shirt back on. “Just for now.”

“Okay, I’m ethically and philosophically and every other -ically opposed to rushing you but I’m bursting at the seams here. Literally, these seams right here: burstin’.”

“I get that. It doesn’t feel that long to me, honestly. I told you and your poor, shaking pussy my intentions _very_ clearly.” She drops back down and Katya groans as her kisses wet her collarbone. “I’ve never really done things this way. I like it.”

Katya likes it too and knows she shouldn’t rush either. Doesn’t need to rush. Trixie isn't going anywhere and she's happy. It’s been two months since they first met. They know much more about each other, of course, and their ease together is undeniable.

The need for sex is getting to Katya; but there's also this cringe-inducing phrase rattling in a filing cabinet in her brain with other random corporate buzz phrases she'd hoped she may never have to think of again because they're such utter drivel sold as wisdom.

Yet it's starting to nag her each time Trixie passes her a puzzle piece while she can’t even see how big the picture is: ‘You don’t know what you don’t know.’

\--

**July 2004**

_Bea lay in the queen size bed wondering why a married couple wouldn't have a king size. Who wants to squish up to someone every night of their life, especially when the other person is a straight up man? Maybe smaller people fit together in smaller beds._

_“Fuck you're so good, you know?” The woman next to her is still coming down. Wherever she’s from originally she has a funny way of talking. These women are from all over, clustered in these little faux villages inside towns inside cities._

_She feels a little overdone now for how fast it went. The vinyl magenta corset is stupidly hot and sticky and it's pinching the undersides of her tits. She pulls the cheap zipper tab and it gets stuck a couple inches down. When she struggles with it the woman sits up and tries it for her. Bea lays her glowing white arms back, rests her open hands still soft with abundant youth beside her face. She gets a pang of affection for the woman--a wife and young-ish mother--nurturing her by reflex._

_The woman can't work it out though and Bea takes it back from her, shreds some of the vinyl caught in the teeth to pull it the rest of the way down. The woman's eyes shine over the stripe of marshmallow-textured skin beneath the open corset while she lifts each breast. She exhales a relieved hum, fully ignoring the woman draped on her legs hoping to eat her alive._

_She sits up a little and speaks. “See something ya’ like?” Secretly, she'd level up for anyone who catches--let alone makes--a horror movie reference. Especially in bed._

_“God yeah, I want to do you now.” Level not achieved. This sweet, straight woman, Bea thinks, wants to feel like a good citizen. Or she wants to experience the aesthetic of making love to a woman. Or be in the presence of another woman coming. That she can do. Girlfriend is already right where she needs to be to watch. Bea slips her hand under her black satin panties with a magenta bow at the waist._

_“Do you want to see everything? I can take these off.” The woman looks a little confused, leaning herself up at an angle to Bea’s much longer legs. “You're gonna help me come just by watching me touch myself.”_

_The woman is emboldened and pushes up to straddle her. She's average height from Bea’s perspective although being super tall herself means this woman could be ‘regular tall’ without her realizing it. She's not small, at least. She hates to admit she won't go for the really petite ones. Just can't do it. Too much residual resentment from growing up feeling the world was designed for pixies. Maybe she’ll outgrow it someday, but for now she gets a little thrill turning them down._

_Bea feels cold palms right over her nipples pushing into her breasts._ Yep, this is how straight women grope tits, like they don't have their own.

_“Let me take care of you, I want to make you feel what I feel. You were so good to me.” She leans down and Bea actually likes her wet teeth on her neck, her short clean hair on her cheek. Her clit jumps when she talks with her lips pressed over her ear._

_“Tell me what you like. I'll try anything, you're the hottest woman on the fucking planet. I want all of you.” Bea knows she believes every part of what she says._

_“I want your whole hand inside me.”_

_The woman stills and pulls back to look down at Bea’s face. The cracked winged eyeliner. The feathery lashes she didn't realize were fake until she brushed over them with her fingertip, her nipple held deep in Bea’s mouth over her curved tongue. The residual pink lipstick and the foundation sponged heavily into her hairline._

_That wraps things up pretty quickly. Once her dress is back on and her flat ironed hair is brushed free of knots from overzealous hands, she leans down and gives her a kiss before leaving the room. She hasn't been to this house before but it's on base and they're all more or less the same so she can find her way in the dark without disturbing anything or anyone. Her white pumps are on one side of the front door, a scatter of small kids’ sandals and sneakers on the other._

_Once in her car she calls Shea and hopes to God she answers._

_\--_

_“So one of these days some overly eager one takes you up on it, and then what?”_

_Bea snickers from where she’s laid out on Shea’s plush nubbly couch. It's a hideous blended green and burgundy color but the whole house came pre-furnished so she can't hold it against her._

_“I see you still think that bumper sticker is hilarious, too. You have issues.”_

_Shea is referring, as she does each time Bea parks in front of her house, to the ‘Bush Supporter’ bumper sticker she has on her car. She originally stuck it there for the irony and the pun. She kept it on for additional cover while on base. The guards probably know by now something fishy is afoot, it's not as though she could ever drive in without a resident as her passenger, but she thinks the gesture matters._

_“Whatever, he didn’t really win the first time and he won't win again with this shit going on,” she says._

_“Sounds about white.” Bea hears Shea rustling through papers in the kitchen behind her. “Call my phone.”_

_“You lost it? You just answered my call 10 minutes ago!”_

_“They’re so tiny now though.”_

_Bea flips open her Motorola and presses the green phone button twice to dial the last number. A ringtone plays underneath her, beneath the couch cushions. It’s a full-on song. ‘She’s A Bitch’. Bea grabs it from the cushions and leans over the back of the couch, holds it out in front of her between short glittery silver acrylic nails._

_“This is my ringtone?”_

_Shea tosses her head back and laughs freely, then dances towards her in precise clipped movements as the ringtone plays and repeats. She grabs Bea’s hands, tossing the phone on the kitchen counter behind her. Bea rolls her hips into the couch, inviting Shea closer. Shea dances like no one she’s ever seen anywhere, in person or on screen, let alone at the Denver gay club where they met two years ago. She clocked the Grace Jones look from an old record cover she’s seen at Tammie’s house back home. Some nights Shea wears fluorescent wigs to go with her latex dresses or pleather suits. Bea is impressed by how she glides back and forth, mixes and matches. Unbothered._

_But has a husband._ Guess what he doesn’t see overseas can’t hurt?

_“Dig this CD up. Dance with me,” Bea says softly. Her heels are off but her skintight pink mini-dress is still on. She certainly didn't put the corset back on, so her breasts are held back only by the one stretchy layer. Her waist and stomach are also back to normal but she doesn’t care so much here. The only thing between her and Shea is her panties and Shea can make her come through them if she has to. They'd made it a drunk challenge one night. It was a tie._

_“You just want me to grind on you. I have something better for that.” Shea drops her hands and walks over to the sound system in her rolled up gym shorts and a crop top. Her short hair is styled straight up and buzzed tight around the sides. Her legs are even longer than Bea’s and she wants to lick each one from bottom to top. On the inside. And the back. Like drawing a thick stocking seam up Shea's legs with her wet tongue. She didn’t want that other woman. But she wanted something back. And Shea can give her something real and beautiful for a few minutes and the rest of the time is nice, too. She can feel like a whole person when she's here with her._

_A strange, teasing song with lots of boops and twangs starts to play. Bea doesn’t have a waking hour in the day between here and the horse world so she hardly knows what people listen to now. She runs between the two fenced bubbles in dirty boots and heels, not much time to get comfortable._

_Shea dances back towards her. She stomps a walk, rolls and sticks her shoulders with each step, swaying side to side as she gets closer. Bea pushes off the couch for Shea to sway into her. Shea grasps her hips gently and shows her how to roll them better, how to get the roll going through her whole body and then rock her arms with it. Bea lets her laugh at her when she looks like a kid playing airplane._

_Shea pulls_ _her in and strokes her face with a smile. Bea looks straight into her petite, delicate eyes and kisses her purple-brown lips that fade into lilac at the center. Her hands are fists waiting to uncurl against Shea’s hip bones as she sucks her tongue. As soon as she does it'll be minutes before she's coming somewhere in this room, wetting some piece of Air Force base issued furniture that Shea doesn't give a shit about._

_Her closed eyelids cower in a car’s headlights that blast through the living room window and blow up her whole body with white light from the side. When she can open them she's standing alone in the dark. Shea’s walking back to her having closed the curtains._

_The room is much darker now and she slides her own fingers under the straps of her dress pulling them down over her shoulders, her arms, and then past her breasts exposing them to the shock of cold air conditioning. Shea pulls the dress down her legs and kisses the fronts of her thighs. She can barely keep her legs under her anymore and whimpers._

  
‘Oops! There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet, oh my  
Oh! Some kind of touch caressing my legs, oh my’ _  
_

_  
The song winds down. She’s hanging on Shea’s neck in just her panties now. Shea walks her to the kitchen and she tries to bend over the counter but Shea tells her to climb up and she pouts all the way. Her ass spreads out on the cold granite and she leans her hands back and lifts for Shea to pull her panties off. When she dips her ass back down she feels her hot, dripping skin connect with the icy hard surface and gasps, rubs in it to warm herself and groans through closed lips for Shea to hurry._

_Shea plants her hands on either side of Bea’s hips and brushes her nose over her cheekbones. “I like that you want me so badly. Even if you're such a cunt to them when they want to--”_

_“Fuck off.”_

_“You know I'm kidding!”_

_“Too far, you made me feel like shit.” Shea leans back with her hands on her own hips. If Bea wants an apology she'll have to specify what for, she knows Shea won't play guessing games with her. “I'm not a cunt to them.”_

_“I know you're not. They fall so hard for you and it's not your fault. Look at you. Tall, strong like a bull, but you’re the prettiest thing they’ve seen since they traded in their Barbies for GI Joe husbands. They're scared. They take what they need to. Don't get caught up in it.” Shea brushes her bangs from her face, the ones she loves having out here in the dry mountain air because she could never keep them tamed in the East Coast humidity. She feels Shea's compassion for the other women warm her body back up and she's forgiven her._

_“And I can’t get ‘em pregnant!”_

_“Twisted, but not wrong. You might be a little bit tough on the outside--a little--but you're total mush on the inside. Like those bland marshmallow things at Easter, shaped like chicks and bunnies?”_

_“Peeps?”_

_“Peeps! A pink glittery smooshy Peep.” Bea feels Shea's fingers pressing into the fat mound above where she needs her. Then her fingertips step backwards into the thick pink flesh of her lips and the nerve endings where her barely there fingernails push feel bitten and she can't keep her eyes straight any longer. The blunt tips of her hair graze the granite behind her._

_Shea doesn't tease after that; she licks her up between the middle and presses her top lip as far over her clit as she can and sucks in. Her hands grip her ass to pull her rhythmically. Bea takes one and brings it around so Shea will remember her fingers._

_Sometimes she thinks how sex was better with her ex. As long as she looked the part. She'd taken a chance with a set of white stockings and hold-ups to surprise her one night soon after they met when she was 19. She didn't think it would dictate everything from there on out._

_“Just keep everything right there for a few seconds--yeah,” Bea barely grits out through her held breath, massaging the base of Shea’s skull with the hand pushing it into her._

_“You're putting me to sleep like that, baby,” Shea’s muffled voice vibrates around her clit. It pushes her over the edge, the muscles in her back arching until her head taps the high curved faucet of the built-in sink behind her. When she snaps back up from it the ends of her hair stick against her back, cold and wet._

_“Ewww! Gross, Shea, the faucet is leaking and it's in my fucking hair!”_

_“Huh! You come down fast. Fix it, then.”_

_“I'm not that type of technical dyke. We don't learn plumbing.”_

_“Useless man around the house,” Shea says in a screechy, nagging fishwife’s voice while she gets bottled water from the fridge._

_“Not gonna try for some house-horse alliteration?”_

_“My jaw is still cramping!”_

_While they tease back and forth a few rounds Shea walks to her bedroom and Bea follows. Shea asks if she’ll stay and she equivocates for a minute, then relents saying it will be marginally better to sleep now and drive North to the ranch for work well before dawn._

_“I like you in my clothes. No makeup. You're cute.” Shea lays on her side in bed as the other side of the mattress creaks under her knee._

_“Thanks.” She feels sleep crushing her face from her forehead down her eyelids and cheeks. Shea says something along these lines most times she stays over._

_“I wanna see you in your cowgirl drag.” Bea lays down rolling her eyes at this but smiles too._

_“It’s not as exciting as you might imagine.”_

_“Does it look like you?” Bea’s eyes flick up for a second before she casts them back down. Their small conversation goes quiet for a minute._

_“Why don't you just say no? When they ask for something you don't want to give, instead of messing with them?” Shea’s voice is soft and slightly plaintive._

_“I'm a tricky ho.”_

_“Tricky yes, ho no. No ho.” Bea cackles and flails her legs against the bed, kicking the footboard. “And yet she laughs like a dude.”_

_Bea calms her body and turns her face into Shea's neck. “Now I know why you need me around,” she buzzes into the skin over Shea’s throat, cool from the air conditioning and a little damp after washing her face again. She'd already been ready for bed when Bea arrived. It warms her that she's willing to stay up to be with her at her odd hours. She wishes they had time to eat out together, rent DVDs, shop at Target and see each other in natural sunlight._

_When Shea leans her hips back, she drops her hand between her legs and quickly hooks her fingers in under her shorts. She’s too tired to climb on top tonight but she likes that Shea’s body feels bigger and muscular like hers so she doesn’t feel anxious over being too hard or heavy against her. She works her fingers in a fast circle inside her, shouldering her further back so she can get a little distance to pump her arm. She would like it to last longer but as soon as she gets her full thrust going Shea starts to come fast and she doesn’t have the energy to hold her off. They fall asleep facing each other and she wakes a few hours later to leave by 4am and drive North for work._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? :) 
> 
> And thank you to hasa_diga_quicheowai for suggesting that Adore be Courtney's "Justin Bieber butch" girlfriend because that was just too great a detail and I had to write it in. She'll come in next chapter for just a minute.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's waxing on about how she likes Trixie’s ‘Tippi Hedren post-bird attack hair situation’ when Trixie takes her barely woken face and kisses her.
> 
> Her tongue knows the pressure all around Katya's tongue and can stroke it precisely without thinking. Her lips know the outer edges of Katya's lips and she teases them with the inner curves of her own before pressing them down. She's kissed Katya so many times she can tell she smoked last night but not this morning. She can tell how fast she raced to get to her. 
> 
> Somewhere along the way she realizes this kiss feels like the future. When she pulls back she doesn’t instantly fret about when the next one will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long ass, dense chapter! 
> 
> CW for more TTC talk (aka trying to conceive, which by the way I'll just put out there is something I'm open to chatting about anon or privately on Tumblr in a supporting fellow queer people kinda way, same name mattepinkallshades). 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for comments, too :)

Three months in, this house feels too big and unlived-in aside from the trail that marks Katya's walking path: front door, couch, kitchen, guest room. And the laundry room when the trail gets too wide.

She's sure her father would be dismayed at the small spot she's worn into the damask fabric on the one armchair she sits in to eat and use her laptop. Sometimes she intentionally sits on it commando.

In her old life friends would laugh at her impersonation of him and his accent: _“Y’katerina. Your footprints vere left in de carpet. Please errrase vit de vacuum.”_

By footprints he meant imprints. Signs she'd stepped outside the perimeter he allowed and not bothered to hide it.

It wasn't her fault, she understands now. At the time though, she didn't know he was a sick person offended by her nature. Sweaty, loud, physical, rude. ‘Rude’ being a catch-all for her humor, crassness, and later her unapologetic sexuality.

All of these arrows pointed to a big neon sign over her head screaming ‘DYKE’, and once that light was on she never wanted it off.

She’ll soon need to access her trust fund which she never thought she'd have to until her parents were gone. When she wouldn't have to hear about it. Her savings were depleted by co-funding Kameron’s IVF cycles. One failed and one … cancelled. The rub is that her parents offered to help because her mother was so thrilled to get her hands on another grandchild, narcissist as she is, and Katya refused.

Tens of thousands of dollars down the drain in a “shared risk” program--shared risk!--with all the expensive, horrible medications that insurance doesn't pay for. No matter what discounted suppliers they were referred to it was still so much cash. They intended to start at the end of the year after their out of pockets were all paid out, just so the more general visits like follicle checks could slide through insurance. But the doctor Kameron wanted had a waitlist and winter holiday office closures disrupt monitoring schedules so they had to start over in a new year with new out of pockets to pay. Logistical and financial labyrinths.

Oh and the emotions? Priceless. The therapy, however, was not priceless. Expensive and intertwined with their sex lives. Good session? Sex. Ambiguous session? Probably not. The rare but horrible bad session? Wild card, ranging from comfort to punishment. Kameron wanted both.

Katya also needs to figure out if she's going to stay here in the East End longer than the summer. This house is not good for her, clearly, but more importantly the partially feathered city nest on the Lower East Side that's technically big enough for a baby is on an expensive as fuck month to month lease.

And the place still looks like a life on pause when it's not. She could walk back through the door but it would be sacrilege to play music inside it.

Everything’s got to go to storage. Worn leather furniture purchased at auction through Housing Works. Thick mismatched diner style plates and mugs from Fishs Eddy. Dark iron branches wrapped in copper wire with tiny LEDs. Heavy Taschen art books gifted to her over the years that she only occasionally cracked open.

The money isn't what’s really choking Katya right now, she knows. It's the embers of scorched Earth still glowing hot in her heart that no one in her fragile new orbit knows about.

The younger, more pure version of herself says ‘Bury yourself in a mountain of blonde curls and gorgeous fat thighs and tits and stomach rolls, let a few cattle dogs run loose in the yard, soak it all in rough consensual sex, and let me be happy.’

The current version of herself, who stuck a lot of things out too long and became prone to coughing fits, resists. And suspects.

\--

For the first time in months, Katya rolls over and goes back to sleep when she wakes bright and early. She’s stayed up later and later each night knowing she needs to put herself to bed. Satisfied to feel her body grow heavier every minute until she can’t go one more. Hours after she says goodnight to Trixie either at her home or over the phone.

When she wakes again two hours later she finds missed texts on her phone.

 _ **T** : Hey … _  
_I woke up in actual pain this morning from your body being all over me last night_  
_Can’t decide how to deal with it_  
_What do you think I should do?_

  
Then, nearly an hour later:

 **_  
T_ ** _: Already at work. Guess I’ll see ya later, lazy bitch ;)_

 _  
One. Fucking. Time. I sleep in and this is what I miss._ She’s out of bed and dressed, driving with her toothbrush jammed in her mouth within 4 minutes.

\--

The screen on Trixie’s phone is dotted with tinted sweat when she tilts it away from her face. She fans herself at her desk with an issue of _Horse Fancy_ that she’s again forgotten to tell Ginger to just cancel. Can't sweep this crap off her desk fast enough. She may as well label the waste bin “Mail” and stick it up there. _That would be taken harshly_.

August has been burning hot and she can’t wait for fall though cool air is still a solid month away, late September at the earliest.

All the heat from the office downstairs gets trapped in her space and today is the hottest of the year. The thick denim band of her jeans is damp but otherwise they feel like they just came out of the dryer, stiff and hot. She’s taken her boots and socks off and unbuttoned her yellow blouse at the bottom to let the fan blow underneath it. Her hair is piled into a massive french twist to keep it off her back and distribute the weight better than a bun would.

She’s thinking more and more of cutting it shorter, perhaps just above her shoulders. She remembers her mother saying women get too old for long hair, and she never knew how old she meant. Her mother wouldn’t say anything if she saw how long she still wears it. That isn't how her parents convey their opinions about specific people, just categories of people.

Through the tiny phone speaker she listens to a client prattle away about her daughter’s upcoming school schedule as though Trixie has the time or concern for it. Gravel crunches outside her window, normal since parking is right below it. But then it sprays too loudly under car wheels, a few pieces flicking the exterior paneling of the office. She scowls down to see who’s making a scene in her space and when she sees it’s Katya she finds she's forgotten how to swallow.

Her hand trembles around her phone and she clenches to stop it. The door to the inside steps leading up to her office opens then softly clicks shut. She tells the client she’s got to go, checks twice that the call has in fact ended to be sure they can’t hear. The sand on the soles of Katya's boots lightly scratches each board as she darts up.

When Katya gets to the top she breathes heavy with her smoker lungs that, unlike the malaise in the rest of her body at the beginning of the summer, exercise can't repair. Her hair is askew in a loose ponytail that she obviously woke up in. Damp strands stick around her hairline from sweat or quickly wiping her face clean, maybe both.

Trixie turns her phone between her hands, very aware why she's here. Katya flicks her eyes to it for a second before looking back at Trixie.

“So what did you do?” She lunges closer until her boots touch Trixie’s bare toes painted that same ‘Chastity’ pink color she wore before. “Well did you finish?” She swallows the hot humid air.

Trixie’s lips twitch up but she won’t say. She glances down Katya’s floppy grey tank top. No bra, just the round inner curves of her plump little tits. The tits Trixie rubbed her face in last night when she sat stoned in her patio and Katya straddled her lap, topless, with a plastic claw clip holding back half of her unbrushed hair, in a pair of old cut-off jeans she'd found in her teenage bedroom. Pockets peeking out the bottom, originally worn over tights, they would have fit much looser in the 90s. She explained this while Trixie inched her fingers underneath the legs of them to squeeze her ass and tease closer and closer. Close enough to dampen her pinky fingers.

At some point they tacitly agreed it's kind of fun to leave their tightly wound cunts untouched, knowing how much closer the rope is to snapping each time. And knowing they both come minutes after parting for the night.

Trixie runs her teeth over her bottom lip. Katya dips her chin and silently raises her arms. The fabric feels a little sticky in Trixie’s hands, either worn overnight or grabbed from beside the bed. She likes when Katya's breasts jiggle just for a second when she puts her arms down. Trixie brushes them with her nails. Her warm soft nipples quickly curl into dried rose petals Trixie needs to dissolve on her tongue. Her shoulders slouch and she reaches for Trixie’s open shirt.

But Trixie gently pushes her ribs sending her back towards the couch. When Katya stumbles the last few steps, Trixie catches her lower back with one arm and carefully sits her down, kneeling on the floor between her legs.

Katya's residual rosy perfume blends with body odor and it fills Trixie’s sinuses when she sucks in and tugs at one breast with her teeth. She wipes away the drool that leaks past her cheek and squeezes two wet fingers over the other nipple in a tight V. A bubble of spit pops under her lips when she moans as Katya arches into her own achy premenstrual breasts.

Her stomach pours over her jeans and the sweat and welts seared in by the denim sting against the dry cotton of Katya’s leggings. When Katya digs her boot soles down her thighs it burns but she squeezes her eyes shut without complaint. Each time Katya moans, she moans wetly back into her skin and squeezes around her own hard clit.

“Did you come?” Katya grits out, her knuckles whiten around a few dropped curls at Trixie’s neck. Her voice is ragged like she's running.

Trixie’s small wince at the pain is muffled in the delicious fat of Katya's breast before she gasps that yes, she did.

“Good. Good.” She reaches down and pulls Trixie’s chin up, and her mouth pops off with a smack. “How? Did you use something?” Trixie’s eyes turn up to meet hers. Katya moves her finger from under her chin and her face drops in a put-on of shame. She's not supposed to use anything, they'd agreed.

She strokes Trixie’s neck and reaches through her thick mass of curls to loosen the twist she’s pinned up. She breathes until her voice smooths out before speaking again.

“It’s okay, baby. You thought about me, didn’t you?”

Trixie whines a small _yeah_ through her nose and just a moment later bites down quickly, eliciting a short shriek and a glare cast down from dark eyes that are usually pale, pale blue.

“Of course I thought about you," Trixie hisses, "I tried to get you on the phone, didn't I?" She slides her spit-dampened hand up Katya's throat to her mouth and covers it. Her hand is broad and Katya notes that she takes care to leave space around her nose. “Quiet.” Her voice is neutral.  

Katya’s hands tentatively relax on Trixie’s shoulders. The hand that guided her down to the couch is still behind her back, and Trixie spreads it over her tailbone. Katya breathes in deep through her nose and her face softens for the first time in days.

Groaning low into Trixie’s hand, she puffs her cheeks out when she exhales. Listens while Trixie talks sloppily and runs her mouth and teeth all over her tits. Feels the loose descriptions of Trixie’s morning fantasies flutter around her body. She spreads her hips wider as Trixie presses her warm belly into her swollen, wet vulva trapped under thin leggings. Trixie gently lavs her breasts now with her wet velvety tongue, and all the exposed skin throbs in the hot air. Katya pulses her hips uselessly with each wave that shoots down from them.

Trixie’s shirt hanging open draws Katya's curled fingers to scratch over the pink tacky skin, down towards the glinting silver button on her jeans. When she touches the ridges left around her waist by the tight denim she frowns and whimpers sympathetically into Trixie’s palm at how sore they must feel. She opens her hand, rubs them down carefully with the pads of her fingers.

She nudges her boots at the waist of Trixie’s jeans, rocking her a little to get her attention. Moving side to side sends a hard jolt to her clit and she groans loud.

Trixie looks up and giggles with her teeth lightly pinched around the skin above her navel. She pulls away slowly, unbuttons her jeans.

Katya is a sight. Her hair is wet around her face, her eyes unfocused slits, even her lashes seem to shine with drops of sweat from her brow. Trixie pants, ready to pull her leggings down and crouch beneath her, let her drip down her throat. The rope is on its last thread. It’ll be fast.

But her booted feet suddenly clomp around her on the floor like dead weights. When she looks up, Katya is rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. Minutes ago she looked wild.

“Kat?”

“Ugh, fuck. Just crashing a little. Adrenaline poured--” she says through a yawn, “--over a few nights of really shitty sleep. This fucking _heat_ , what the hell is wrong with this space, no air?” She looks down to Trixie, thumbs over the light tooth marks dimpling the spot she nipped earlier.

Trixie looks up at the ceiling and sighs, using her shirt to dry her sweaty throat. _This fucking heat_.

Once she gets up she glances over her shoulder and grabs Katya’s top from the floor, folds it for the few seconds it takes to walk it over and hands it to her. Katya looks at her a moment and sticks her arms forward. Trixie presses her lips together and shakes the shirt open, glides it over her arms and head.

From her closet at the far end of her office she pulls out a cool puffy blanket. She also grabs a bottle of water from her mini fridge.

“Up,” she says, adding a quick gesture with her fingers. She smooths the blanket over the couch and wordlessly guides Katya back down. Katya protests saying she’ll drive home but Trixie insists and presses just a little more firmly on her shoulder.

She collapses on her side with a relieved huff and Trixie kneels on the floor again beside her, leaning her elbow on the edge.

“I’m sorry,” Trixie says.

“For what?”

Trixie doesn’t look at her, takes a pause. “I feel like I trampled a flower.”

“Do I look like a flower to you?” Katya says with a sedated laugh.

“You do,” she says without hesitation, finally looking. “You’re so beautiful and amazing and I never want to hurt you.”

Katya takes her hand and curls it into her chest, presses her lips to their fingers. “I know that,” she says a bit shyly.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I know I’m so beautiful and amazing.”

“God you’re shit,” Trixie mumbles while reaching into her pocket for gum with her free hand.

“That’s my comfort zone.” She watches Trixie unwrap the gum and pop it in her mouth. “I know this might seem absurd all things considered, but I want it to be special now. It's your fucking fault, puttin’ your own pussy on a pedestal.”

Trixie shrieks and throws her head on the couch. “What, this isn't special enough? 100 degrees with no air moving, horse piss and whatever rotted musk you've got goin’ on right now, kids and grandparents running around outside hearing everything?”

“W-wait why are there grandparents? That's so specific.”

“Oh this week is like, family week for the end of the little kids horse camp thing that Ginger heads up. With Farrah as her mascot, poor thing.”

“Poor Ginger or poor Farrah?”

“Ha! I don't know!”

“That's cute. You could get some goats to run around here so next time you wanna batter my tits the sound’ll just blend right in.”

“Stop it. All your sounds are so sexy.” Her voice is so low and honeyed Katya grunts low in response. “Will you tell me what the shitty sleep is about? That’s no good.”

“Oh. It’s about a lot of things.”

“Okay.” She uncaps the perspiring bottle of water and presses it into Katya's hand. “If you do want to tell me, I would like to hear it. When you want.”

Katya nods slightly and drinks at an awkward angle, out of energy to sit up further. “Of all the things to have on hand, bottled water somehow seems off brand for you.”

“Girl, ask Jinkx, she freaked me out about estrogen in the water supply. I don’t know, she does research about this shit for herself and I just do what I'm told,” she says with a dismissive wave.

Katya likes to think of Trixie and Jinkx as two lady companions whom history would have desexualized but, plot twist, are actually not having sex anyway. A kind of lesbian meta romance. She hopes to explain her theory to Trixie someday, some time after the lingering awkwardness between herself and Jinkx has broken down. Maybe when they’re very old.

Sometime around her late 20s, around the time she broke up with Pearl, Katya started to feel shame over the lesbian tendency to fall fast and hard. Not just her own tendency but the birthright itself. She supposes this shame could be maturity but it feels more like a critical outsider who doesn't understand how women who love women are supposed to be.

But that doesn't assuage her guilt over thinking how right and magical winter might feel like sitting in Trixie’s living room years from now. When she's got arthritis in her fingers gripped around a bunched up Pendleton blanket she knows Trixie has in a closet somewhere. One that smells like last year's fires and the years before that. All the ones she's made alone.

And Katya thinks Trixie's wanted someone to make a fire not just with but _for_.

She sips and recaps the bottle. “But BPA is like--”

“Okay, you’re very tired and argumentative right now and I have work to do.”

She’s halfway up to leave with a quick arm squeeze when Katya pulls her back down and buries her face in her neck. For the first time Trixie sinks her weight fully over her. Katya’s breath raises and lowers her and Trixie’s eyes drift closed for a moment.

The last thing Katya hears are the smallest imaginable taps against the floor from Trixie carefully moving a large box fan over to cool her while she sleeps.

\--

Two hours later Trixie is back at her desk to return calls and to check if Katya is still here.

 **_T_ ** _: Katya is asleep on my couch. I finally succeeded at dry humping her into a coma. ‘Dry’ being highly inaccurate._

 **_J_ ** _: You're at home in the middle of the day?_

 **_T_ ** _: That's the question here??? I meant my office couch_

 **_J_ ** _: I don't want to know what move you put on her that knocked her unconscious. Gross.  
_ _Still on for tonight?_

 **_T_ ** _: Yes! I'll be there by 7_

 **_J_ ** _: K. I have news, important. It's good, don't worry._

 **_T_ ** _: I’m extremely worried.  
_ _What do I do with this fucking cat sleeping on my couch?_

 **_J_ ** : How do you manage to text so aloofly through your heart eyes?  
You're so gross.  
_And I'm happy for you :)  
_ Run a hose up through the window.

  
Trixie laughs softly to herself. She hasn't seen Jinkx in weeks.

Looking at her with her mouth pressed to her knuckles, it's scary to think how someone like Katya who's been in normal relationships can’t understand what this means to her after ten dormant years. Years of working hard and smart--despite what Ginger and perhaps the others believe--to build the kind of life with daylight hours left to share with someone, someday.

That's the deal she made with Tammie when she transitioned to ownership of Marigold. She would need room for an actual life that she could give to someone, if the right someone materialized in the dust.

She's been with someone who only loved her doll parts, not all of her. And all the women after who had no clue there was anything else to her, by her own design, she knows.

And one who could have. Shea. Trixie hurt her yet managed to break only her own heart in the process.

She’s ready for sex again. With a woman who can really give her what she needs. Who she doesn't feel bad caring about. Katya’s assertive sexual energy overwhelmed her at first, she’ll admit. She likes to play with it now and Katya seems … flexible with control, like she is. 

But her deepest want is getting a woman to say ‘you’re so good to me’ without their come on her. That’s what she’s fantasized about since she left boxes of corsets, spandex and stilettos by the dumpster outside her apartment complex in Fort Collins, while Tammie drummed her nails on the side of a rented SUV and shook her head.

She comes around her desk and steps over to Katya who is already awake and stirring as she approaches. Folding one leg under to sit, she lifts her head into her lap and plays with her dark hair. Earlier she had carefully removed the elastic for her and even pulled the shredded hair off it, gagging only a little on the second part. She was slightly disappointed that no Girl Scout badge appeared on her blouse for the achievement.

Katya sits up after a few minutes of relishing her fingers around her hair and earlobes and turns to face her. Her hair sticks straight back instead of down and it looks so silly.

Then she's waxing on about how she likes Trixie’s ‘Tippi Hedren post-bird attack hair situation’ when Trixie takes her barely woken face and kisses her.

Her tongue knows the pressure all around Katya's tongue and can stroke it precisely without thinking. Her lips know the outer edges of Katya's lips and she teases them with the inner curves of her own before pressing them down. She's kissed Katya so many times she can tell she smoked last night but not this morning. She can tell how fast she raced to get to her.  

Somewhere along the way she realizes this kiss feels like the future. When she pulls back she doesn’t instantly fret about when the next one will be.

“I was thinking, my birthday is a week and a half-ish away. Maybe we can plan something special for it. Special special.”  

Every ‘special’ tingles over Katya's ears and down her neck and shoulders like warm rain, so convincing she pats her neck and rubs her fingers together to see if they’re wet. Any slight movement she makes reminds her of sitting in a warm shallow bay she remembers a long time ago somewhere near here, one where the bottom is so slippery it’s practically liquid.

“I’ll be there,” she grins, tousling her hair into a shape she thinks is normal though by Trixie’s covered smirk is probably worse.

\--

As Katya re-enters the main office, she sees Ginger at her desk and feels naked and sticky with sweat and come like she just got caught by her parents.

“Hi there!” Ginger says with the slightest twinge of a taunt.

“I didn't come here to be attacked,” Katya laughs.

“Well it kinda looks like you did, just not by me,” Ginger snickers at her monitor. “Listen I’m taking an actual lunch break today since most afternoon folks not involved in camp cancelled due to the heat. Care to join me?”

“That sounds great!” She surprises herself at how quickly she says yes.

“Good! The general store down the road has a little cafe out the back that's good enough for locals. Go home and shower with some blue Dawn, if I can smell you around this place that's sayin’ somethin’.”

\--

It took no time at all to rub out a quick orgasm in the shower when she got home, somewhere between six and seven strokes. She didn't even get her fingers past the top of her clit, she was so oversensitive. Her lips and ass and thighs and the dark hair spreading back were all slippery and sticky at the same time.

Now she's clean and blow dried, feeling light as a feather driving to meet Ginger. She's driven past this deli many times never bothering to stop because it just looks like any mediocre deli. Not cute or quaint or gourmet or artfully dilapidated, just bland.

When she goes out back with her sandwich--a locals-only off-menu item Ginger texted her about--she sees Ginger at a wooden table with her partner and their son.

“Ohh hi, Kennedy, right? I'm so sorry, I know we met--”

“Yes, Kennedy, it's fine,” they assure her with a slow, soft voice. Katya nods and quickly sits down.

“They brought Jerrod over from daycare so I can spend the afternoon with him after lunch,” Ginger explains, smiling at Kennedy with a different kind of smile than she's seen before.

Kennedy is quiet, subtle and Ginger is completely wrapped up in them being near. She's much more brash than Kennedy is, though just as sweet. They're a good match, from what Katya can tell. They’re even nearly identical in their physicality and expressions if very different in appearance. Kennedy's afro is pulled back, they wear a large polo shirt and cargo shorts; Ginger’s glossy red angled bob glints like the red rhinestones in her denim shirt.

Jerrod looks to be about … 3? 4? 2? How people know the difference when they aren't parents, Katya has never understood. She heard Ginger describe him as a “threenager” once before so she goes with 3 years old. Doesn't help her know how to interact with him.

“Can I go on a wide in _Kenneny’s_ car, mommy?” Jerrod says, carefully annunciating.

“You're staying with me baby, later we’ll go see the turtles in my car,” Ginger tells him. She looks to Katya and quickly explains the consonants in Kennedy’s name are a work in progress.  

“I have to get Paw Patrol from my car first though, otherwise mommy’s going to have a very, very bad afternoon isn't she?” Kennedy smiles at Ginger, softening their round hazel eyes even more. _Love, love, love._

Kennedy retrieves the beloved toy and departs. Ginger tells Katya about her ex, how he's sensitive about titles so Jerrod calls Kennedy by name even though he never sees his father. It sounds awful but Ginger appears to have accepted it in exchange for being able to actually parent with the person she wants to, named so or not.

Listening to her, Katya realizes how easy it should be to tell someone else about her grownup problems, too. She’s always found it easy to talk about bad shit from childhood. 

“After the end of summer pony rides we’re doing on Saturday the staff have a wine and cheese kinda thing, we’ll both be there. Adore will be there too, I think. Did Trixie mention it to you?”

Katya's ears and throat burn. No. She sure didn't.  

“She seems pretty tense about being visible. I mean … ,” Katya swallows, realizing how absurd it is to say it, “with me.”

“Well she's not had any opportunity to practice, hon. Give it a minute. She _is_ a bit dyed in the wool in that regard. I think it comes from the Colorado shit, more than fear about things here.”

She doesn't want to give up how little she knows about Trixie and Colorado, but it's obvious to Ginger.

“You two don't do much talking, do you?” Ginger chuckles.

“We talk a lot. We laugh. It's easy.” There's so much she hasn't told Trixie about, either. She picks around the sandwich she was enjoying until Trixie came up.

“I suggested to her that it would be cool to make Marigold more openly LGBTQ. For community purposes, you know? She essentially said no.”

Ginger purses her lips. She asks Katya for a cigarette and then cancels it when she remembers her kid is with them. She sips her bottle of soda instead, takes a breath after she swallows.

“The thing is, someone like her doesn't have shit to lose by taking a risk. She's … she has Tammie's money to fall back on, she’s blond and tall and pretty, she's educated.”

“Tammie's money?”

“Katya, talk to your girlfriend! I'm just saying she drives me crazy. For every good thing, there's something else about her that just …” Ginger shakes her shoulders, casually exasperated before returning to her sandwich.

Katya's head hurts. She accepts the invitation to the pony rides after-party and says goodbye to Ginger and Jerrod, and his Paw Patrol toy. Once home when crawls under the covers and sleeps. When she gets up at 6pm, she smokes, drinks a black coffee and goes grocery shopping.

She knows she'll feel more sorted out by morning. She's physically worn herself down, this isn't rocket science. And she has a previously scheduled phone appointment with her therapist tomorrow. She'll return Trixie’s texts before going to bed and take a Benadryl to fall asleep fast, get up like usual.

\--

Trixie carries two classes of Prosecco and elbows Jinkx’s rickety screen door and it bumps open, spilling some of both glasses on her arm. She dressed up a little tonight in a short turquoise tunic dress with white embroidery on the split square neck. She blew out her hair and put it half up and pulled out one of her pink lipsticks, a very pink glossy one, and added a subtle winged liner. Now she’s slightly miffed to have wine soaking the long sleeve of her dress, but reminds herself she wouldn’t care if she’d dressed the way she always does. Her fault.

“I know you saw me through the screen, couldn't even open the door, bitch?”

Jinkx grins but doesn’t laugh out loud because she knows that would shift Trixie from playfully irritated to truly irritated.

“I wanted to give you the opportunity to be fully gracious, love.” Jinkx tucks a large paperback book partially out of view as Trixie tries to hand her a glass. “I'm actually trying not to drink. Thanks though.”

Trixie reels backwards in mock horror before placing the glass on the small table in front of them, putting her bare feet up beside it. “You give me your weed--thank you--and you’re not drinking. What’s going on?”

Jinkx doesn’t respond right away. Concern builds up quickly in Trixie’s gut. They’ve been best friends for seven years and it feels like a lifetime before that. She has a fear that something will break them apart. There’s something about Jinkx that seems so much stronger than other people, and to Trixie at least it also makes her seem more vulnerable.

Jinkx eventually holds up the book she kept beside her. _Taking Charge of Your Fertility_. Trixie makes a confused puppy face and stares out at the the trees in front of them, then the grass, then the porch beneath their feet, then just the air in front of her face as her brain puts pieces together.

She laughs nervously. “W-what’s that for? Getting pregnant? Are you planning to get pregnant? Oh my god are you really?” Jinkx grins and nods and covers her face with the book, screaming into it.

Trixie screams too and throws her arms up, shaking her hands. “Wait wait wait, you have to tell me everything, when did this plan happen and what exactly are you going to do? I have so many questions.”

“Honestly it’s such an information overload.”

“Why now?” Trixie doesn’t need to ask why Jinkx is doing this or how she can handle it. She thinks she understands.

“Why now? I should have done this five years ago! I could have, anyway.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think I ever really prioritized romance as the beginning of my goal. I want to be a mother. That’s the goal in itself. I wish I hadn’t spent so long being too scared to try and get what I really want." Jinkx pauses. Trixie's hand is on her mouth and her face is blood red, soundless with tears pouring down her cheeks. "Good lord, stop.”

Trixie can’t. She’s so relieved that Jinkx is okay and so overwhelmed with happiness for her that her feet are cramping from squeezing them tightly. And she knows exactly what she means, despite having a different goal. 

“Breathe. I don’t want to be scooping your brains and hairballs off of my windows when your head combusts. Do you need a snot rag?” Trixie laughs and inhales. Her face is a snotty, teary mess. “Aww, your makeup!”

“Oh my God, who cares,” Trixie shrieks, smearing the corners of her eyes clean with her ring fingers.

“You looked fabulous, though. Is this something you’re exploring again?” she asks with a toothy, excited grin.

Trixie blows her nose on a paper towel she quickly grabs from just inside the screen door.

“Don’t change the subject! Anyway this is nothing like I looked before. This still feels like me. I don't think this would get me into any trouble.” she says with a skeptical smile.

“Listen, again, your sex doll look didn't get you into any trouble,” Jinkx says around a mouthful of bread she's torn off from the loaf that's warming in the oven inside. “Honestly. Two really creepy people out there did, and you were alone. No one looking out for you. I love Tammie and all and I appreciate everything she did for you growing up, but she failed--”

“Yeah, well. If I’d treated Shea better a lot of things would have been different.”

“Yes. Everything is your fault, it's easier that way.” Jinkx reaches the two feet between them and grasps Trixie’s arm, looking as her soft pale fingers spread across rough skin and sparse hair that's cycled through twenty years of being tanned and bleached by the indifferent sun. 

“I truly believe, that staying out of contact forever is not what Shea--”

Trixie waves her free hand against the rest of what Jinkx was going to say and powers herself down.

Jinkx steps inside to give her space and put together trays of homemade hummus, steamed artichokes, chargrilled eggplant and peppers as well as marinated feta from a store and bread from a baker who sells from tubs out of the back of her minivan on a road near town. Most people pass by because, unlike cute farm stands, there’s no aesthetic appeal or other superficial assurances that this woman’s stuff is any good. But Jinkx knows.

She takes her time finishing. Apologies aren’t needed in either direction. It would be exhausting if they had to apologize to each other all the time for being honest.

“Are you going to make baby food?” Trixie asks as she spoons another heap of Jinkx’ hummus onto a warm slice of bread.

“First I have to make _baby_.”

“You’re so homey and nurturing and you know everything. This kid will have the best life.” She says it casually while spreading an artichoke leaf in olive oil she’s mixed with the feta. Jinkx watches. She’s touched by the sentiment, but mostly happy that when the time comes that she can’t be Trixie’s number one, someone else may have taken over the task.

“Is Katya any better than you are with homekeeping?”

Trixie thinks about it. “She is, actually. She's so competent, just makes a full plan and executes. Cooking something new. Thinking of something that fits a space. She’s just like, ‘Oh! blah blah blah, done.’ It's hot.”

She finishes her third glass of Prosecco since Jinkx won't drink any of it. “She's going through something. Won't tell me about it. Or hasn't yet. I asked. I don't know what else I'm supposed to do.”

Jinkx gives her a pirate eye. “Yes you do. Be available and patient, and care. You can do it for me, do it for her.”

Trixie looks unsure. Jinkx asks her to stay over so she can feed her some more and let her finish the bottle. She'll have to leave early in the morning to get to the stables since Jinkx lives further east. She says yes and goes to bed early.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a small love note xx. They’re so nice to see.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kat? I never had a relationship like the ones you’ve had. With romance. Things to miss. My only girlfriend never gave me flowers. Never gave me a note or a card, or did anything that said she knew something about me.” Trixie looks down then and a tear from each eye thuds the dusty toes of her boots. She looks back up with more tears pooled above her lower lashes, straining not to blink.
> 
> “I just wanted you to understand that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been long, long overdue and I hope the new chapter is worth it for returning readers. And for anyone new! I worship each and every comment, truly, with a special spot for ones from familiar readers which is just so cool to actually have familiar readers. 
> 
> This is a Trixie-centric chapter almost entirely from her perspective and also a very personal one for me and maybe that's why it took so long. I've also had human being matters arise that made it take extra long to complete. 
> 
> In the story we're still at the end of August, just later in the same week as chapter 8.

Trixie's on a two day visit with a client in York, PA to evaluate whether or not he can keep a horse she worked on retraining early this past spring when the ground hadn’t thawed yet.

Touching the same horse and feeling the heat on his back makes her yearn again for cooler, comfier weather. She wants to fast forward to the comfort of long sleeves and longer evenings in the fall. And winter.

Especially this year. If she’s lucky. She daydreams of choosing trees with Katya. One for each of their homes. Katya will insist she can chop one down and end up half-destroying the trunk of a tree that’s too big. Then at the lot she’ll want to take an extra tree home, a sad one that won’t get chosen or the one she touches first because it looks at her when she walks away.

Trixie will give her shit for it but she’ll haul both of them into the back of her Yukon, hold Katya’s hand while driving her home to set them up. She won’t wear gloves so her hand will be sappy and cold, knowing Katya will spend the ride warming it up for her and picking off sticky blobs. Because she likes being given a job.

The horse … Trixie knows this poor horse has plenty of try, that he desperately wants to get it right and he can with patience and consistent leadership. It’s true of all horses, but it matters most for troubled ones. It guts her to know it may not work out. The client doesn't blame Trixie for it at all because he feels like he failed, though the horse’s previous owners are to blame.

When her cheeks pink up and tears wet her lashes while she leans over the steel paddock fence, he grasps her shoulder and shakes her with a side hug. His hand feels like a work glove but she appreciates the gesture. This never would have happened in the spring, but she’s not mad about it.

That night, once Trixie is settled in her Day’s Inn hotel room, she and Katya decide to try again for a hot phone call. Even though it was her idea the first time, Trixie is nervous to start. She describes the nasty bedspread that she’d tossed in a heap on the armchair. And the tiny shower with the shower head installed too low for her to get her face under it. Katya asks for details like whether she rubbed her skin clean with a bar or lathered up with gel. It helps but she can’t take her seriously. They ease along, describing the boring clothes they’ve worn to sleep. Trixie points out that they could have lied to each other, and Katya replies that she’d rather imagine her naked right now more than anything. Trixie couldn’t agree more on that. She’s desperate to see what little is left to be seen. 

To that end, Katya searches for the longest hair on her legs, noting she can’t remember when she last shaved them. Trixie laughs and insists she not shave now, it’s familiar. Especially up near her underwear where she’s crept her fingers a couple times. Katya assures her she doesn’t do any bikini grooming, then with a break in her voice she asks Trixie about herself.

Trixie almost dives straight in but teases first by cataloguing her physiology, tallying two labia majora accompanied by labia minora, one clitoris, one vagina etc. Then she reveals that she’s mostly waxed. Because Trixie’s seen many different shapes and shades and finds her own especially pretty, tells how big and wet she gets when she’s turned on. She laments having her last wax done right after her period ended when her skin was too tender. Through all of it she smiles as Katya whimpers and groans and bangs her fist on her nightstand.  

They get sidetracked from there laughing and then not laughing over shared fantasies about having real dicks, what they might look like, what they want to do to each other with them, what they want to do with each other's. Trixie is ready when Katya asks if she can tell her what to do.

With her phone on speaker and the volume turned all the way up, Katya talks Trixie through with her crushing tones and hisses. Her voice tugs at the spots she wants her to touch, and she only asks her to touch them gently. She weaves in details she can pick out in Trixie’s body and face the more aroused she gets. Her awareness of how Trixie’s body works makes Trixie keep her eyes open when she would usually close them. She looks for what Katya describes. The connection is overwhelming. When she wants to stop she looks at the phone, seeing Katya's name and the length of the call ticking upward. The numbers moving give her a rhythm and she comes smooth and easy. Not hard, not explosive fireworks, just a perfect release.

As she comes down though, Trixie sniffs that she wants Katya there touching her and saying all these things about her to her face. She doesn't know how much it’s about this, or if it's also because of the horse, or somewhat because of her new worries about Jinkx and if she'll end up moving closer to family. She hasn't told Katya about Jinkx’ baby plans and doesn't mention it now. She'll tell her about the horse later.

Katya stays quiet for a beat before saying ‘Soon baby, I promise.’ It’s all she can say, Trixie doesn’t expect more. Just to be delicate when she feels delicate is a revolution. It’s great, but it's also fucking sad to waste it in a half-lit room off the parking lot with just 200 miles between them when so many years have already gone by.

Katya tells her about the steel plug she already has in place. That perks Trixie up, thrills her in fact to find out she’s had it in all this time.

“What does it do for you?”

”Makes me feel like I’m mid-sex. Everything I do or say is like ... turned up. I don’t know.”

Trixie takes a backseat and enjoys listening while Katya runs a wand vibrator slowly over herself and moans beautifully, sucking fingers into her mouth. Trixie tells her how much she loves her sounds, how she could be strapped down and just listen to her, not be touched at all. Katya laughs low, biting on her fingers, and even her wicked laugh spills like a curl of hot smoke through the phone into Trixie’s core.

After shuffling some pillows and positioning the phone near her waist, Katya’s set it up better so Trixie can hear the changes when she circles the vibrator further into her folds and back out, then dips lower over her entrance and closer to the plug. Her pitch lifts and lengthens there, and then she pulls back without coming. Listening to this cycle repeat a few times drives Trixie out of her mind.

Trixie almost yells at her to do it, to scream and come her brains out. Instead she makes herself come again while barely moving her hand. She crosses one leg over the firm side of her thumb towards her wrist, squeezes down and rubs her clit onto it, not easing up when it feels raw. Her face and neck sweat and when she’s done she relaxes immediately with the rapid pulse of blood continuing to rush to her cunt, melting hot, swollen and wet into the cheap sheets.

With her head more clear and satisfied, the sticky buzz and Katya's edging moans still coming through the phone lulls Trixie into the space where her more private fantasies mostly lounge and rearrange themselves when they get bored. From in there, Trixie shares things that make Katya drop her vibrator to the floor and spit out her fingers to groan _please, yes_. She fingers herself and comes quickly on her back before rolling onto her stomach to play out what Trixie says she wants with her. 

\--

After they’re fully spent, when the sounds have all drained from her hotel room and Trixie suddenly feels alone as if she hasn’t been for years and years, she asks Katya if she’s okay.

Katya assures her _yes_ repeatedly, still wobbly from coming down. She offers to send pictures of how okay she is, but Trixie declines, feeling shy and tired. Shortly after they end the call she gets a text.

 

 _**K: Me rn, told you I’m okay.** _  
_**[bat emoji]** _

_**T: Lol good** _  
_**I can’t wait to be home tomorrow** _  
_**Back in my bed. I don’t like being away.** _

 

She expects Katya to write something back and when nothing, not even the typing dots come through after waiting a couple minutes she gets annoyed and puts her phone down to shower again.

 

 _**K: I miss you. I know it’s just two days but whatever.** _  
_**Miss talking to you. Miss how I feel standing next to you.** _  
_**I’m stupid** _  
_**See you tomorrow xxxx** _

\--

Trixie pulls up to meet Katya at a roadside Mexican spot with picnic tables and bright patterned vinyl tablecloths. She’s coming straight off the 7 hour drive after finishing day 2 with her client. The horse will stay with him for now and Trixie’s told him she’ll buy if he decides to sell.

She sees Katya looking out for her car and heading over as soon as she starts pulling into a spot. Once the car is parked Trixie leans back, hoping she'll never take for granted how it feels to see Katya coming towards her. She walks like she's on a taut wire, a perfect straight line bouncing a little with each step. Trixie fumbles to unlock the door when Katya tries to open it.

“Hi!” she beams and all Trixie can do is rest her head on the seat and smile softly at her. She’s tired, hungry, sore from sitting in the car, and more horny than she ever was in her 20s which says a lot. Katya promises her a good massage for her sore shoulders and back later, briefly digging into her cramped trapezius muscle.

Trixie pats her lap and Katya kneels on the passenger seat, plants her hands square on her smashed thighs and leans all her weight into them. She brushes Trixie’s cheek with her nose and then starts to kiss her, sucking in each of her lips before sliding her tongue further in than she normally would. Trixie breathes out any lingering worries from the previous night. She knows Katya lets her hair fall over her face when she kisses her from above just so Trixie will push it back for her and grab her ears. And Trixie does, rubbing them a little and feeling Katya’s quiet hum all over her mouth.

“This car is so huge I have to jump to get on it. Huge like … ” Katya trails off a little hesitant, pulls herself back just in front of Trixie’s face and searches her eyes for confirmation.

Trixie glances down to where Katya strokes her slender thumb over the bulging V in her jeans. She swells up like a time lapse flower deep inside but keeps her voice steady.

“Baby, you took it all like a champ last night,” she says, gives Katya’s cheek a soft pat. “Made me proud.”

“Fuck,” Katya stutters and spits a little but she has a full grin on her face again. “I'm telling everyone how filthy your mouth is,” she says, never letting the corners of her mouth drop.

“Ha! Go ahead, yours looks like it’s done some real damage.” Trixie flips the passenger side visor down and slides the mirror open right as Katya sits back and laughs at her reflection, red lipstick shadowed around her mouth.

“Man, this shit wasn't worth shoplifting. Do you have wipes or anything?” Katya asks and stretches her mouth open, scraping the red stains with her dry fingers.

Trixie pats down her clothes and face. “Do I look like I normally carry makeup remover on my person?”

“Maybe, as a holdover from your woman-eating days on base.”

“Oh honey, I ate well,” Trixie taunts, fluffing her hair around her shoulders. Katya groans a laugh as she makes do with a napkin she found in the glove box, dabbing it with her tongue.

“Um, to be serious for the briefest of moments,” Katya says as she balls up the damp pink napkin, “you can tell me whatever you want about that. About anything. Just because I make fun of basically everything doesn’t mean--”

“Yeah no, I get it.” She puts her hand on Katya’s fists that are shredding the napkin, quieting them instantly. “I'm so hungry, please tell me you ordered already?” Trixie pleads softly. She knows Katya did, and Katya nods with a small smile that manages to reach her eyes. 

Just when they’ve crossed the small parking lot into the seating area, she stops Trixie.

“Were you gonna clean this up before real people see you, or?” She gestures to Trixie’s face where her lipstick obviously left marks, too. Trixie swipes at her mouth and curses at her while she turns on her heels.

“I was just waiting to see how long before you realized!” Katya yells after her though she’s already most of the way back to her car. She decides this won't be the time to inform Trixie that her butt takes on a distinctive walk when she’s pissed.

\--

The summer crowd thinned a little after mid-August because some private schools start back before Labor Day. But incognito city-dwelling celebrities still show up grizzly with their unwashed brood on weeknights, beach sand stuck to their calves, and wait in line behind the last gasps of vacationers trying not to look twice and townies wanting things back to normal.

When Trixie returns and there’s still no table, Katya asks about going together to the little staff shindig the next day. She plays up that Courtney and Adore are going, Ginger and Kennedy …

“I’d rather spend it with just you,” Trixie says, bumping Katya’s hip. Her explanation hangs midair with the mosquitoes. It's dusk and the days are just starting to get noticeably shorter. There's a collective shift in the crowd and a number of people stir all at once, families with young children taking them home before sunset. They get a table furthest back, by the trees.

“I get that,” Katya says like they were just on a commercial break while the next scene was set. “But they’re becoming my friends. So I want to spend time with them. With you. And I really don’t want to be hiding from everyone else there.”

Trixie rubs her middle finger on a small cactus printed in the motif of their sticky blue tablecloth.

Katya doesn't know it but the day after they met, Trixie listened to Courtney loudly moon over Katya while Ginger booked out her lessons. She told Willam about her tattoos, acted so clever for recognizing them as O’Keeffe's flowers. In response, Trixie stalked outside behind a run-in shed and clenched her fists, kicked clean through part of the fence that had taken on much of her stress over the years. She came back in and told Willam to fix it, dodging questions about what happened and if anyone had gotten loose.

She also doesn't know that a couple years ago Trixie, Courtney and Jinkx were all friends for a hot minute. Then Courtney started to flirt with Jinkx which was fine until out of the clear blue she dropped her interest altogether. Still tries to act as though it never happened which turns Trixie’s stomach.

So no, Courtney and her basketball short-wearing girlfriend's presence isn't a selling point.  

As for ‘everyone else there’, meaning the straight staff, these are people she’s known a certain way for many years. Some she even grew up with, one who used to work with her parents back in Hampton Bays.

“It’s my work. It’s not a place to flaunt who I’m dating. We’re not really discreet, anyway.” She’s not wrong on her last point, and she wouldn’t expect them to be shocked. She and Katya often leave together. Katya goes in and out of her private office for no practical reason. They don’t kiss but their playful, push and tug body language makes their relationship clearly beyond friendship--but non-confrontational. Going to this party together just isn’t necessary.

It’s not just Trixie toeing the line. She and Ginger and the rest of them each have their boundaries and they always know who is around no matter how ‘obvious’ they sounds at a given moment. The illusion that Katya seems to have that they’re free to be as out as they want? It’s smoke and mirrors. They all know their limits with the straight crowd milling around.

And the membrane that keeps them all contained also keeps the other _them_ out so no one has to pretend. Being able to enjoy that bubble is a unique privilege in the horse world. In most other instances a queer person would be in a smaller minority and wouldn't have the freedom they do have at Marigold. Trixie knows what that’s like. She spent six years in that environment and ended up physically ill from it and in danger just drying to have some kind of gay existence.

“It’s not work though, it’s a social gathering _after_ work. I’m not asking for a public lap dance. Just for you to show up with me like … ,” Katya keeps her eyes on Trixie’s. Trixie tenses her forehead without intending to and it spurs Katya on.

“I'm your girlfriend, aren't I?” Katya asks. Her beer is finished and their food still isn’t ready. She keeps swirling the bottle and tipping it like she can make another drop materialize. Trixie’s growling stomach flips and her eyes widen despite the fatigue pushing her shoulders down.

“Yeah. I--yeah, that’s what I want, very much,” Trixie trills. She hadn’t realized that was stressing Katya out. Her only real ex wasn’t comfortable claiming her as her girlfriend. Katya isn’t comfortable _not_ claiming her.

And looking at her across the table now, Trixie’s entire argument which has paced stubbornly in her mind for a good decade suddenly stalls out. It’s not that she's going to admit she had it wrong all this time. She just doesn’t want to do it anymore. 

“So go with me, then,” Trixie says firmly. Their number is called just then and Katya moves but Trixie stands to collect it. Before she turns away she sees Katya's sweet face with a growing smile, her eyes working quickly and happily. When she sits back down with round foil containers of food, she messily stuffs a chip piled with guacamole into her mouth.

“How are you feeling, have you caught up on some of that sleep?” she asks, loading and biting into another chip. “You look better. For a Slim Jim with tits and hair,” she adds with a wink. She forgot to get napkins and wipes her hands on her jeans.

“What happened to me being a flower?” Katya giggles.

“Listen, I’ll still fuck any version of you. Baby you've got to do better with sunscreen, every burn is dangerous.” Katya looks down over her shoulders and chest where a burn is peeling. “I rarely bothered in Colorado and look, I’ve got the sunspots to prove it.”

“Personally, I love your sunspots. Is my face still okay?” she asks, grinning and twisting her index finger into her dimple.

“Your face is still a pretty flower,” Trixie says with her mouth full and smiling.

“Cool, I’ll just let my body rot! I can be a head on a spike,” Katya laughs, slapping the table.

“If your body rotted a little sexy demon would be left behind smoking a cigarette.” Katya curls over wheezing at this and Trixie reaches across the table to hold her hair back from her food.

“Yes! Can we name her?” Her eyes sparkle and Trixie smiles with satisfaction. “What?”

“You feel better.”

\--

When they get back to Trixie’s house they stumble in groping each other and Katya lands over Trixie’s hips on the floor, pins her arms back. 

“How about that massage? Wanna make it topless? That’s a loaded question, I want you topless and I wanna squeeze your tits, suck them ‘til I can’t breathe,” Katya moans into her mouth.

“Do it,” Trixie whispers against her lips, crying out a moment later when Katya twists her nipple under her blouse. Her underwear hasn’t been dry all day but a burst of wetness seeps past the seams as Katya wrenches down on her collar and digs under the top of her bra to get to her breast.

“Your birthday’s getting closer, tell me again what you want?” Katya asks and licks under her bra, squeezing with her fingertips. Trixie can’t answer. She’s too focused on Katya grinding slow and hard over her pubic bone. How or why they’ll hold out six more days she doesn’t know.

Trixie doesn’t lower her arms even though Katya quickly released them, her deliciously greedy hands roaming everywhere. She loves how Katya touches her fat spots wherever she encounters them. She grabs them, caresses them, licks and kisses them, never skips over them like they’re shameful or don’t exist.

It’s not that others have given Trixie shit over her body. When she started having sex she was wearing things to give her a more feminine waist, what she felt needed at the time to feel sexy. But she never felt like it deceived anyone and no woman ever took issue once she was naked. They knew they were getting in bed with a tall woman with big bones _and_ fat on her thighs and belly and arms and ass; and they had no complaints.

But not complaining is a far cry from how Katya considers her whole body when she decides where to touch and kiss her. She can’t get inside Katya’s head to know what she thinks. What matters is that when she loves on what others have only accepted it feels genuine.

\--

Late Saturday afternoon before the party, Trixie races home to change into clean clothes and then decides to take a little extra time to dress up. If she’s going to cross this threshold she should make the most of it, go all out.

Her drawers are mostly filled with her work clothes. But in her closet Trixie keeps a modest wardrobe of dresses and feminine tops, most of which she hasn’t worn out yet. This collection is nothing like the dynasty she built up in the old days, with debt. That was another worm in the hole Tammie had to lift her from.

This closet is just half a rack of short hippie-prairie style dresses that don't force her body into someone else's womanly shape. A white crocheted lace sheath; the turquoise tunic she recently wore to Jinkx’; a rich saffron mini dress with a strip of amber beading down the middle that hits so short on her she should have returned it but ran out of time. Recently she’s been drooling over stoned Western shirts, and silky ones with gorgeous embroidery. She’d wear them with tight dark jeans.

After coming home from Colorado she stuck with her muted work attire, things she feels comfortable and happy in every day. It wasn't until a couple years ago that she reignited the femme flame. And when she did she started to work out a new aesthetic that feels much more like ‘Trixie’ than the Barbie clothes ever did, as fun as they were.

She picks an ivory crinkle dress with embroidered flowers in shades of yellow. And soft brown cowboy boots with pink stitching. She loves these boots but never wears them, even though she justifiably could every day.

\--

When Trixie was known as Bea and was still very small, her mother dressed her mostly in overalls and pants like her sister. It was a practical decision for spending time before and after school around splinters and rusty nails, mud and manure. She blended with all the children throughout elementary school, and her long curls gave her a distinctly girly look.

Through middle and high school Trixie grew taller than tall, and painfully so with recurring back and neck spasms. Like other girls she got bigger where she was supposed to, but other girls also grew smaller where they were supposed to. Narrow waists. Slender fingers. Sharper features. Silvery voices.

Trixie’s voice grew deeper. She grew broad across her shoulders, knees, and hands. Her waist stayed straight. She inherited her father’s bones. Her sister got their mother’s.

Clothes were hard. She preferred to wear oversized men’s flannel shirts and jeans. The shirts had to be oversized because they weren’t cut for large breasts. Men’s jeans had bigger waist sizes and longer inseams. This worked fine, both for school and for the stables. It looked and felt natural to her.

She did want to experiment with more feminine looks, not for every day but for when she felt like it. Like her peers, she lusted for crushed velvet dresses, pastel heels, tight baby doll tops, full Delia*s fantasy. Her references were limited, though her obsession with Kate Winslet and her often shit-upon fashions on and off the red carpet did expand her range a little.

And even though it was difficult it wasn’t totally impossible to find girly clothes that technically fit over Trixie’s proportions, though pickings for teenagers were limited. She wasn’t about to dig into the Women’s with a capital ‘W’ section.

But the fit wasn’t quite the problem.

The pig’s blood moment occurred when she was 15, the day she tried on a pair of glittery 3” chunky Steve Maddens at a crowded outlet mall in Riverhead. She gazed at her long, muscular calves rooted in absurdly feminine heels, smiled and thought she’d buy them and then think of how or when she could possibly wear them.

Then one of her more petite friends loudly shrieked and laughed ‘Look! In heels Bea’s a man in drag!’ while the other two in their group gasped.

Trixie would have telekinetically brought the fucking ceiling down if she could. Instead she leapt from those shoes fast as she could but was still 6 feet tall, stuck in that store full of faces staring at them. Couldn't hide, couldn’t run. She did accidentally--though not apologetically--slam the bitch’s food court slushie into her shopping bag, poured it all over her brand new North Face ski jacket.

She never knew what her other two friends gasped at, whether it was her looking ridiculous, her looking gorgeous, or their little friend being an embarrassing asshole. It was too confusing and humiliating to ask.

For a long time after that Trixie felt like she’d never taken those heels off. In public she wouldn't wear any clothes that reminded her. She would in private, though, in her room. A lot of her world bloomed in private. Of course her mother soon got sick of buying her things she wouldn’t wear out of the house so that section of her closet stayed small.

At the stables where she grew up, her large size and proportionate strength were assets and everyone more or less dressed the same as she did. It was as close to comfort as she could hope for.

These were the stables owned by Tammie Brown’s family, where her parents worked. When she reached high school, Tammie was an instructor somewhere in her 30s or possibly 40s by Trixie’s guess.

Trixie was intimidated and fascinated by Tammie, how she took up all the space she needed when she sat, stood, and talked. She wore blazers, kerchiefs, scarves, gaudy stoned shirts and flared breeches. Sometimes she just wore high waisted jeans with T-shirts, either plain ones or or conservationist ones featuring whales.

Tammie danced, too, wherever and whenever she wanted. She could be loud and brash, funny in ways that made herself laugh whether or not anyone else did. Trixie was familiar with a type of bawdy, confident woman in the horse world which was certainly aspirational. But none were on Tammie's level.

But more important than anything, Tammie always extended an arm out to shepherd Trixie in. Literally, she saw Trixie coming, held her arm out and beckoned her into the paddock, arena, or wherever. Trixie was familiar with feeling noticed--observed--but not feeling implicitly welcomed. Tammie got that, somehow.

Tammie traveled a lot though, often for weeks at a time, and Trixie never knew when she’d be back. She would sulk around the stables, take comfort in cuddling the horses. She didn’t tell anyone how much it distressed her when Tammie was gone. It made her bitter when she’d return and she’d pout for a few days. Her parents were always either home or at the stables, never went anywhere for more than a day or two without her and her sister. She had no experience being separated from an important person in her life.

Once she could drive, Trixie sometimes visited Tammie’s home on a weekend afternoon. Only with Tammie’s permission, as her parents often reminded her. She listened to her tell stories like how public bathrooms work in every major city around the world. Trixie would huddle in stitches, trying to suppress her laughter or else Tammie would get distracted. She became a vegetarian by tentatively trying out recipes adapted from Tammie's trips to India and hearing her describe lamb slaughter in too much detail.

Tammie usually played an eclectic and, for Trixie, embarrassingly outdated selection of records. Grace Jones, Talking Heads, Leonard Cohen, Bette Midler, and Roxy Music were all in heavy rotation. She grew to appreciate some of them in time.

Sometimes when Tammie was occupied with an international call--there seemed to be so many--Trixie would roam the house and peruse her objects, books, and art prints, new ones leaned against the baseboards if she hadn’t had time to place them.

Trixie’s parents have never said so but she likes to think they were happy Tammie took her under her broad, oddly feathered wing. She hopes that they were grateful and not embarrassed when Tammie offered and then insisted to pay for CSU. If she’d had a choice she would have loved to get everything she needed from them. If that had been the case, maybe she could have been more honest with them about her troubles in college. With Shea. With that woman’s husband. If she had, they would have been more sensitive than Tammie was.

\--

**October 1996**

_“There you are. I have to ask you to scoot home now, dear. I’m entertaining some friends from out of town,” Tammie says to Bea who quickly returns a book to its shelf. Mortified, Bea steps behind an old office chair with the cane seat worn through. She’d never been in Tammie’s home office, really only defined as an office by a desk covered in opened charity request envelopes, pens and stamps, and an outdated rotary telephone with a long tangled cord._

_Now, with the books she found in here, she realizes the room may have implicitly been off limits._

_“Shall we?” Tammie encourages again, but before she follows Bea scans the names printed on the book spines and promises herself she’ll commit at least one to her memory for a later time: Alison Bechdel, Nan Goldin, Barbara Kruger, Robert Mapplethorpe, Linda Montano, Cindy Sherman, Annie Sprinkle, David Wojnarowicz._

_A side door off the kitchen is used as the main entrance and Bea’s barn boots are there. She sits on a stool with a hideous green and yellow flower print vinyl cover to put them on. It's one of many items in Tammie’s house that doesn’t match up with such a wealthy person._

_Tammie stands at the kitchen counter drumming her nails against it, her jaw clenched with a flat smile. Bea is putting her boots on quickly but she's not used to being rushed out. Now she’s convinced she's in deep shit for invading her office._

_“Bea,” Tammie starts, hitching her breath before continuing, “you ought to be thinking about how to get away from this wicked little town. Find more room, more kinds of people. I’m rich, I’ve travelled plenty and I know how important it is to stretch.” Bea wasn't aware that rich people just casually go around saying they’re rich. Tammie sits down on a bar stool and leans her elbow on the counter, relaxed, and Bea realizes she herself hasn’t breathed since she started putting her boots on._

_“School is your ticket to get out there. Your parents say you’re doing well this year?” Bea nods quickly. “I know a woman who runs a ranch out west that takes students straight from an incredible horse science program near there. The field is called Equine Science.” Tammie punctuates the words with her hand like they’re printed on a frontpage headline. “You would learn far more than you ever could here.”_

_It strikes Bea that Tammie’s not just pitching some college ‘out west’, but acknowledging that she’s too different to stay here. Like she was. And still is._

_“Do you have any opinions about Colorado?” Tammie continues._

_“Opinions? Not really,” Bea shrugs, trying to smile. “I don't even know how far away it is.”_

_“Long Island’s school system wins the day again,” Tammie laments with a deep eye roll. “Not so far as say, California. It has its own population ecosystem, in a way. You wouldn’t feel alone being out there, lots of people out there far from home.”_

_Bea’s chin starts to crumple and she scratches under her nose to try and stop it. The thought of being alone terrifies her. She never went away to summer camp, partially because the stables are where she feels the most at ease. But she also didn’t want to be alone when home is good enough. It’s not great here but nothing terrible has happened. What if she didn’t have anyone watching out for her?_

_What terrifies her more is that to get something better than good enough she knows she'll have to risk it. And Tammie is saying it out loud, so it’s not her secret anymore._

_“Honeybee,” Tammie says as she hugs around Bea’s shoulder and gives her a few pats. “You know the exciting part about going somewhere new? You can be who you already are, grow into something new, whatever you like. And the only one who knows is you.”_

\--

Katya could pummel her younger self with the body she has now. Some of her stiffer pants, like the cigarette pants she’s wearing for the party, strain across her thighs. She can see the outline of her bicep under her tattoos and through the sheer black sleeve of the shirt she has on. The areas of skin that are exposed daily have tanned darker than recommended, as Trixie pointed out yesterday. She wears a new shade of foundation to match. She's tired enough from riding or working most days to be wiped out and in bed by 10pm. She gets hungrier, eats even more food than she ate as a teenager.

Trixie’s right, she feels much better. Not just from the rough week she had before, but overall. Marigold feels like a space that's pulled her in, like it wants her there. Or perhaps, as her therapist gently suggested, people want her there and she’s willing to accept that. Either way, progress. She feels immense progress over the whole summer.

Willam is busy enough every day that when Katya arrives he puts her to work immediately with a list of tasks. He even checks with her before she leaves to confirm she’ll be in so he can plan. He expects her to do them well and rides her ass for doing them wrong. She loves the clear expectations and satisfying manual labor. His monotone may defy most people’s sarcasm radar, but she knows that he’s one of the least judgmental people she’s ever met. And sluttiest. But he doesn't seem to mind that his high season, dating-wise, is about to end until next year.

He goes to great lengths to appear garish. Lately he's into fluorescent bandanas worn in bunny ears around his corkscrew curls. Whether or not he sees it as a paradox, he's also extremely well read. She imagines him in his attic space of the duplex he rents out to make a killing each season, cornered by books he can’t wait to speed read as soon as he kicks the door shut on all the renters and boys of summer.

She’d like to get closer to Courtney and they still chat before and after lessons as they have all summer. But whatever vague shit stands between her and Trixie makes it awkward to be more chummy than that but she hopes that can change. Despite the invitations, she doesn't really want to third wheel with Courtney and Adore and their new relationship energy. Unless Trixie would consider a double date with them which somehow transitions into a spontaneous foursome. Which Katya has absolutely fantasized about. _Adversarial blondes hate fuck while their vaguely concerned girlfriends referee? Subscribe._

Ginger is the crusty plastic jewel stuck in the middle of her construction paper crown, of course. They have funny text exchanges now and then which she knows irks Trixie a little, though she can’t figure out if it’s her or Ginger she’s jealous of. She can be around Ginger and not have to talk all the time which isn’t true of Willam. Katya still helps her with problems in her booking system on occasion and it reminds her she should probably wake up her work email account, check for recent client opportunities. Hopefully some who’d be willing to have her work for them remotely.

The staff party being set up is casual as Ginger had advertised, cheap wine and platters set up on the grounds. Staff are pulling up the Adirondack chairs that are usually scattered around the riding arenas for onlookers to watch sessions.

Katya arrives just in time to watch Jerrod finish a ride on a tiny pony named Miss Petal. Her bridle, mane and tail are all decorated with white daisies and yellow and orange ribbons. Ginger takes video with her phone while exchanging commentary with Kennedy, recalling when Jerrod wouldn't walk through the grounds he was so timid around horses, giggling over when he first sat on Miss Petal and shrieked when she shifted her legs while standing still. They end by affirming that he gets around to doing everything in time, or as Ginger puts it ‘he hasn't missed a single sunrise yet.’ Kennedy rubs Ginger's neck and says something quiet Katya doesn’t try to hear.

When the ride ends the spell is broken because Jerrod turns into a devil child pitching a fit over being taken off Miss Petal. He would not, could not take a juice box or a string cheese or a yogurt tube or even his Paw Patrol toy. All cold shit.

Just as Ginger looks drained of her last bit of compassion and the gold in Kennedy's eyes has faded, Trixie sidles up.

“J, do you want to help Chelsea take Miss Petal’s saddle and bridle off? Maybe you can help brush her too.”

“Oooooh,” Kennedy and Ginger agree in harmony, looking at each other with a renewed hope that only a pinch hitter can bring to a parent-child meltdown. Chelsea walks with Jerrod over to a stall to untack Miss Petal and his parents follow.

“‘J’?” Katya teases with a solid shove. Trixie doesn't move an inch except to glance down at the disappearing pale marks her fingers leave on one of her folded arms. They're still standing by the arena, Trixie with the sun behind her so Katya has to squint her eyes slightly to look at her.

“Oh, he and I go back. When he was a baby, Ginger would bring him into work. There's still a damn Pack ‘n Play folded up in my office closet. What?” she laughs.

Katya looks up and down her white dress and cowboy boots with zero stealth. The dress is loosely cinched with a brown and tan Western belt decorated with round silver plates and studs all the way around, held at the middle with a large plate buckle stamped with a bucking bronco and rope around the edges. Her hair is pulled over her shoulder in a thick braid with voluminous curls around the top. She's made herself up with warm shimmery eye shadow, dark lashes and thick winged eyeliner. Deep pink mouth.

“Nothing. Just this hoe down babe standing in my way,” she grins, twirling a piece of her own hair with her ankles and arms folded. “She looks just like you.”

Trixie smiles and her lashes touch the bright peach blush brushed on her cheeks, leaving a couple flakes of mascara behind.

“Come upstairs for a minute.”

At the top of Trixie's office stairs Katya's heart races from the exertion of climbing but then she holds her breath. She sees it immediately. When she steps further into the room, Trixie stands to the side waiting for her reaction.

The torn, flattened, shitty old couch is gone. In its place sits a new supple brown leather one with bronze studs. It happens to look quite nice, much more like something that belongs in Trixie’s life.

She jumps onto Trixie and kisses her stupidly hard with her arms around her neck, buries her face there with her feet barely touching the floor. Trixie hoops her arms over the backs of her thighs, lifting her up.

“I know you hated the old one, baby.”

“I know you know, fuckin’ bitch.” She swallows and a tear squeezes out without warning. She smacks it before it hits Trixie’s shoulder.

“You're pressed into me so hard I can feel you swallow.” Katya raises her head and Trixie pushes in for a better kiss. “Tricked ya.”

Katya burrows back into her neck and laughs, and the laughing brings the rest of her tears down. She moves her head so her chin rests on Trixie’s neck.

“I want to tell you about something. But I’m scared you won’t want to hold me like this after.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You can put me down but don’t let me go, not until I’m all the way through it.”

Trixie holds her and listens to her cry about Kameron; her intractable guilt for lying about wanting kids, and for derailing Kameron’s most important desire; her lost friendships; her mother's full retreat into coldness after dangling warmth in exchange for another grandchild; her fear that if she’s happy it will hurt Kameron and the cycle will start over again. And that she would deserve it.

Trixie doesn’t say a word but she holds on the entire time.

\--

When they walk out into the crowd, staff stand and sit in clusters, and Trixie squeezes Katya's hand. Music plays from speakers set outside the office and Katya comments on the strong song choice. It’s Leonard Cohen’s ‘Closing Time’ and it’s from a playlist Trixie made for the party. Katya blushes with her hand inside Trixie’s and brings her free one over to stroke Trixie’s inner arm. 

 _And I loved you for your body_  
_There's a voice that sounds like god to me_  
_Declaring, (declaring) declaring, declaring that your body's really you_  
_And I loved you when our love was blessed_  
_And I love you now there's nothing left_  
_But sorrow and a sense of overtime_  
_And I missed you since the place got wrecked_  
_And I just don't care what happens next_  
_Looks like freedom but it feels like death_  
_It's something in between, I guess_  
_It's closing time_

  
Everyone is several glasses deep into the boxed wine selection. No one gives them much heat for showing up late. They play debutantes for the boisterously tipsy ‘AYYY! Get over here!’ straight crowd for about ten minutes, and as both of them predicted there’s no outward event about showing up together. They retire to their circle with Ginger and Kennedy, Courtney and Adore, and Willam.

Farrah flits back and forth until Trixie tells her to ‘settle down’. They all watch her wrestle a particularly battered chair with its legs wedged deep in the grass outside the stalls about 100 feet away. It's been passed over for a reason but she’s determined. Trixie opens her mouth to Ginger who glances at Willam and he trots over to help her yank it out and drag it over. Courtney pushes her chair aside and makes room.

When Farrah thinks no one is looking, Katya spots her discreetly scrape horse shit off the edge of her pink patent leather heels. They're not entirely impractical. Easy to wipe clean. Solid heel so they won't sink or stumble.

Trixie moves her hand over Katya's G-rated skin and takes great pleasure in cupping her shoulder, scratching her palm, brushing the top of her neck. She's content to see her sit with her legs criss crossed in her chair and her shoulders down, laughing hard at everyone's jokes that don't always earn it. Katya shares her pack of cigarettes with Ginger and Kennedy and they have a side conversation going on for quite a while.

Willam and Farrah are screeching over a YouTube makeup tutorial so that leaves her with Courtney and Adore. Adore is beautiful. Adore is young. Adore is wearing a white muscle shirt and blinding white capri pants with dozens of zippers and ties that look like something Courtney would wear. They very well may be hers, something she forced Adore to wear tonight. And yes, Trixie is absolutely reveling in pettiness.

“Fuck yeah _Talking Heads_! Courtney and I saw David Byrne in Brooklyn last week,” Adore says with her slightly nasal drawn out voice, taking Trixie by surprise on multiple fronts. 

“He is incredible, he’s in amazing shape, the bastard, dances a solid 2 hour set and sings live the entire time. Music is all live, too.” Courtney leans further towards Trixie in her chair as she talks. She’s braided her hair on both sides. As usual she looks like a gorgeous parakeet. “His two dancers were just spectacular, and the band plays on stage and it’s all choreographed with lights and suits in grey monochrome ughhh!”

“There was this electric guitar chick who was so hot, _so_ hot. Every dyke in the audience was eye fucking her and she knew it. And the girl from the opening act was hot. Hot chick party.” Adore and Courtney then eye fuck each other with their fingers tangled between their chairs.

“Brooklyn? Where was it, Barclays?” Katya asks, parting from her conversation.

“Oh no girl, Kings Theatre, it’s like a palace with arches and uhh … ,” Adore looks to Courtney and she reminds her, “yeah, cathedral ceilings. It’s a big venue but it’s beautiful, not a fuckin’ stadium.”

“That sounds great.” Katya looks to Trixie quickly with a small smile meant just for her.

\--

Once the group thins and the hot pink sun has slipped back under the horizon for the night, Trixie follows Katya into the tack room and hitches herself up onto the wooden workshop table in the middle. One large wall is lined with two rows of English saddles set upon deep U shaped frames; the adjacent wall stores bridles on hooks and has a column of Akro-Mils bins with bits and other small parts.

Katya leans up to her face and she still has to bend far down to kiss her. She grabs Trixie’s shoulders and sharply pulls herself back.

“You still like me?”

“I like you a lot,” Trixie giggles and captures her mouth again briefly before Katya pulls back once more.

“You think I’m a good person?”

“You’re a very good person. It kind of drives me crazy how people love you so fast. Believe me, if your birthday was coming up they’d be throwing you a party. I’ve known these bitches for years. That’s not them, that’s you.”

Katya’s hands have drifted heavily over her breasts and the wide roll of her stomach, and now they squeeze up and down her thighs under her dress. She wets her lips and tries not to lose her train of thought. If Katya pushes her thumbs further in between her legs they’ll get sticky.  

“What you told me sounds awful,” she whispers and puts her broad, careful hands around Katya’s fragile face, wiped clean after she’d cried off most of her makeup. “I can't imagine what it's like … for everyone involved. But you’re the one I care about.”

They didn’t turn the lights on and it was nearly too dark to see each other when they first came in. The tack room has small windows up high close to the ceiling that let in a little moonlight. But their eyes have adjusted now.

Katya eases down the stretchy shoulders of Trixie’s dress and pulls her breasts out of her plain beige bra. Trixie explains she doesn't have sexy lacy bras, she can't just buy online because she has to be sure they fit right, and she'd have to drive far to try them on but she can make time if it really matters. All the while Katya lightly passes her wet thumb around the tip of her nipple, crosses her collarbone with nips and sucks. Trixie wraps her legs tightly around her waist, helping to hold her up since she has to teeter on her toes.

“Why the fuck would I care what you wear? I said I want you with nothing on.”

She's worn the belt loose and Katya picks up the cool, heavy plate buckle and presses it under Trixie’s heavy warm breast. The cold makes her jump and look down, and Katya drops it. She takes up the thick leather end of it and strokes its ridges, gives attention to the curved tip.

Katya feels faster breaths blow down her lashes. She knows Trixie is really watching now. She tenses her thighs, squeezes them tightly with a hiss, and gives the belt a sharp, loud metallic tug. Trixie jerks forward and grabs her arms, the flowery muscles flexed rock solid to support her. Her mouth twitches looking down at Katya and she quickly reaches under her dress, inside her underwear. Katya shuts her eyes thinking of Trixie’s hand in her cunt right there, inches from her and rests her forehead on her chest, rocks with Trixie as Trixie rocks over her hand. Trixie moans over and over and grips Katya’s hair.

“I like this belt, Trix. Wanna unbuckle your dirty jeans when you've had a really hard day, reach in with my clean hands.” She speaks into Trixie’s chest with a dripping wet mouth, sucking up her skin and pulling it with her teeth. “Wear nothing but one of your work shirts. Maybe some lace panties, maybe not.” Warm drool drips from her mouth onto Trixie’s tits when she talks and rolls from her lips down her chest when she sucks her up. “Wait by the door for you to come home to me.”

Trixie squeezes the back of her neck and moans much louder, snaps her hips into the dark lacquered wooden tabletop, rolling over her wet knuckles.

“Next time? You’ll be inside me,” Trixie says just above a whisper, her voice bouncing with her hips. 

Without looking up Katya nods and brings her hands around Trixie’s ass, helps her deepen her movements. She’s certain Trixie will come quickly now. That’s why Katya goes all in. She lowers her head and takes the leather end of the belt into her mouth, makes lurid slurps and whimpers as she sucks it. Trixie’s moans break apart for a few seconds, then she roars her rhythm into full force and screams up to the ceiling when she comes.

\--

Thankfully there’s a sink in the tack room so Trixie can wash up. Katya rinsed her mouth but hardly tasted anything off.

“One benefit of being a smoker!” Trixie teased.

“Bitch, I sucked your belt like a dick and you’re giving me smoker guilt right now? That’s cold.” Katya stands behind her and circles her waist while she dries her hands. She leans all the way up and over Trixie shoulder, and Trixie cranes her neck back to kiss her.

“It’s commitment. I’m committed to you staying alive,” Trixie says when she’s turned around. They hold hands walking towards the door and hear music still playing when they open it. “Guess no one turned it off.”

“Or they turned it up to drown us out.” The song changes. Trixie’s eyes go wide and her mouth drops open. “I’m kidding, people were already gone and the rest were leaving, don’t worry.”

“Not that, this song. I love it.” She’d made the playlist longer than necessary and didn’t know what the shuffle would get up to. Bette Midler’s cover of ‘Beast of Burden’ plays, a more honky tonk take on the original.

“Trixie? Am I too debased for a dance?” She holds up their locked hands and immediately sees Trixie tense, embarrassed, so she brings both hands to her hips instead. Trixie scrunches her face with an awkward smile but puts her hands on Katya’s shoulders, rests her wrists over them ...  

 

 

 

 

_I'll never be your beast of burden_  
_My back is broad but it's a hurting_  
_All I want is for you to make love to me_

_I'll never be your beast of burden_  
_I've walked for miles my feet are hurting_  
_All I want is you to make love to me_

_Ain't I hard enough_  
_Ain't I rough enough_  
_Ain't I rich enough_  
_I'm not too blind to see_

_I'll never be your beast of burden_  
_So let's go home and draw the curtains_  
_Put some music on the radio_  
_Come on baby make sweet love to me (Oh what's a matter with me?)_

 

They sway and shuffle a little to turn. The automatic overheads from outside shine artificial neon yellow light on them. 

“I love the original too but her version and how the lyrics work with a woman singing it is something else entirely. I don’t love that she sidesteps the gender pronoun issue but the quality of her voice is so wrenching,” Trixie says. 

“My favorite music is still what I listened to with my first girlfriend. Well, the first one I truly loved, broke my heart, that girlfriend. Raja.” Katya looks to the side when she mentions her. Trixie’s only been looking at Katya.

“Kat?” Katya looks back at her. “I never had a relationship like the ones you’ve had. With romance. Things to miss. My only girlfriend never gave me flowers. Never gave me a note or a card, or did anything that said she knew something about me.” Trixie looks down then and a tear from each eye thuds the dusty toes of her boots. She looks back up with more tears pooled above her lower lashes, straining not to blink. 

“I just wanted you to understand that.” Before her cheeks get wet, Katya’s pressed her head and shoulders into hers. Trixie rests her cheek on top of Katya’s head and they dance through the next song: Grace Jones' 'I'm Not Perfect (But I'm Perfect for You)'.

 

 _Had we met at a different time we'd be perfect for each other,_  
_Now we're spending all our time, in this world come together,_  
_My heart is aching, from all the love you're giving,_  
_We’re not faking, is this the life we're living?_   

  

 

 

_I'm not perfect, but I'm perfect for you,_  
_Now I'm right on time,_  
_I'm not perfect, but I'm perfect for you,_  
_I feel right on time_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to hear the songs and a few others that fit well, [I made a playlist :)](https://open.spotify.com/user/9pa9h3laave5uybvbzopht73l/playlist/67IZv8apm9R7PxsTWEJi2p?si=gxip8DRzRW6E3sbos-peAQ). 
> 
> Also come hassle me on Tumblr at mattepinkallshades! I've timidly enabled anon messages so send me something fun if you like.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It would have been great to know you a lot sooner. But since that couldn't happen maybe it's more like, you came back to me.” She won't look at Katya despite knowing she's waiting for her. If this doesn't work out her weak heart is done and she could never tell her that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s get these gals laid. 
> 
> Starts with a brief drift to a couple months down to October in their timeline, then back to where we left off, and then a little jump back into October. I wrote a lot of this months ago and then a lot more in just a few hours. If you’re still into this story I hope you’ll be pleased! I think it will end up about 15 chapters but we’ll see :) Holy hell.
> 
> And as always I love comments, all of us do, why even say it but yeah it's great to read them!

Katya's skin feels cool and dry when she wakes in the dark. Just her knee is hot and sweaty. She turns on her back without opening her eyes and the puffy blanket gets pulled away from her.

 

It's Trixie. Her knee was stuck behind Trixie’s thigh, and when she rolled over Trixie grabbed the blanket back. Katya rolls over again and slides her hand under the blanket, under Trixie’s warm, heavy arm.

 

While she sleeps, Trixie’s muscles are invisible. She's secretly warm and cuddly, Katya knows, and it wasn't hard to get there in retrospect, but she visibly softens completely in her sleep. Her back is long and pale pink like a tongue. She can trace down the middle with her fingers and see her muscles ridge before melting away again.

 

_Katya closes her eyes again and falls into a dream. In it, Trixie walks her out of her house, past the backyard. In real life, cedar trees separate Trixie’s property from the larger one behind her, but in the dream the trees are gone. Along the walk Katya has shrunk smaller until she can't see herself or Trixie any longer when she thinks to look. She feels herself stumble to the furthest end of this other property, far enough from Trixie’s home that she could shout and no one down there would hear her. She takes off running back to the house and finds the grass and pebbles larger than her. It would take forever on her little legs._

 

“Trix?” She's woken up again and doesn't want to be alone with the anxiety while the details disappear. It's hard to wake Trixie. She's had to once when Jinkx called repeatedly and Trixie didn't hear her phone. Katya hopes she won't mind too much and shoves her over to make her wake up.

 

She takes time opening her eyes when she first wakes up in the morning and her preference is to barely open one eye to start. She'll keep that up, just opening and closing one eye, for a surprisingly long time some mornings and Katya wonders if she realizes it so she hasn't mentioned it. It's nothing she'd want to change.

 

This is the middle of the night though. So Katya's getting the full-on mole face and nothing else.

 

“What?” she rasps, looking off to Katya’s left.

 

“It's snowing!” Katya says with inappropriate excitement. Trixie drops her head and Katya is slightly disappointed she wouldn't believe for at least a couple seconds. “Okay it's not, I wanted you to want to be awake.” Trixie breathes heavily into her pillow, slightly facing her. Eyes still shut.

 

“So what is it?” Katya's guilty whimper is barely audible. “I’m awake!”

 

“A dream.”

 

“Bad?”

 

“No … ” Trixie’s arm is already out over her. Katya scoots under it and they shift until Trixie’s head is on her chest.

 

Later in the early October day, Trixie will drop Katya off at the Amagansett LIRR station to head west into the city where she’ll shut down everything that remains there.

 

\--

 

**August**

 

When they stop dancing to Grace Jones, Katya tells Trixie it's over. She's coming home with her and she won't have it any other way, though she needs to stop by her place first. They drop into the office to grab Trixie’s iPod and Katya brushes close behind her all the way.

 

“Don't fuck me here,” she says with half a smile, turns forward then back again to affirm that she means it. Katya buries her face at the lower back of her neck, blows warm minty air from the gum she took from Trixie’s pack and bites the gathered white shoulder of her dress, dragging her skin and making Trixie flinch back into her.

 

When Katya drives away, Trixie takes a minute before starting her car. She purchased a cream silk slip and shorts with lace trim a month ago. At the time she forced herself to buy it without thinking too hard about whether she likes it that much. She'll wear them but she has reservations about the theatrics of it all. It occurs to her to text Katya and ask what she thinks. But she gives herself permission and starts her Yukon, lights the pitch dark driveway red behind her and pulls out without needing to look. She knows the shape of this property perfectly, it's hers.

 

\--

 

Aside from her toiletries which she sweeps into a mesh wash bag, Katya has a go bag for the occasion.

 

There's the black lace bodysuit she picked out painstakingly after debating between a precise fleur de lys pattern and a minimalist ultra sheer one. After waiting week to week to decide, she chose the pretty, fussy one with straps so thin she worried—excitedly—that Trixie could snap them impatiently.

 

Then there's Trixie’s birthday present. She had dug through box after mildewy box in her parents’ basement full of neutral unsentimental Christmas ornaments; winter blankets littered with mouse piss and shit; itchy Fair Isle sweaters purchased for photoshoots ( _so why the fuck did we keep them?)._ All in hopes of finding her old _Horse Crazy_ books.

 

And she did find them. The ping pong table that had inspired competitive crying between Katya and her brother and, one time, matching bloody noses was covered with a blue vinyl tarp. When she lifted the tarp and tapped one of the boxes with her foot the solid reverb of tightly packed books gave her butterflies. She had a butcher’s knife for opening the boxes and sliced the first one open with glee. She opened the second one with a little more reserve.

 

Then she found her old books and touched the same pages her smaller, younger fingers had decades earlier. The pages were appropriately yellowed and stiff, curled at the edges. She brushed against that pin in her history and felt herself wedged between a new before and after. Katya picked the one with the right cover and tucked two concert tickets inside.

 

\--

 

The drive speeds her heart with a series of landmarks that only mean something because they mark the path from her house to Trixie’s home. At one turn, a large tree with two large knots near the base. At another, a mailbox painted with three little fish and two big fish, a couple with three kids. The house three houses down from Trixie’s has a similar driveway entrance and it tricks her every time, forces her to calm herself like she's shushing an excitable puppy.

 

She slides on the gravel when she pulls in and breathes out hard as she puts her Wrangler in park, steps down in jeans and a black T-shirt, showered, brushed, and clean. Promises have been made. Trixie said she'd leave the door open.

 

\--

 

Katya has never been to the second floor but straight up the stairs she’s bounding when Trixie calls out from her bathroom, inside her bedroom. Since the bedroom door is open Katya sees from the second to last step that her bed is unmade and knows she expected a few more minutes. Katya calls back to her, pauses before proceeding up the last steps but makes her way in and takes in the room.

 

She likes that she doesn't make her bed in the morning, and she can see what side of the bed she takes up. White linens and masses of thick heavy pillows line a deep king size mattress. The walls are a rough silvery wood with natural blemishes throughout, and the same wood goes up the vaulted ceiling with exposed beams painted white. She's had it raised because it was too low. Terracotta pottery with a Southwest vibe lines the center beam with a strip of lighting to highlight it. Colorado. An aged white painted double dresser. One thing throws her off: a massive brown and white cow skin rug at the the foot of the bed. Not something she'll ask about tonight but there has to be a story for why she'd have an animal skin in her house let alone her bedroom.

 

A couple minutes later after Katya hears the faucet turn off, she knocks on then walks through the bathroom door.

 

Trixie is looking in her vanity with no makeup on and makes eye contact with Katya behind her. She's applying cream to the ends of her hair, out of the braid. Showered. Her skin and hair look steamy. Long night already for both of them.

 

“You look pretty, Katya.” Hearing her name at the end sends her swaying a few inches into the door frame.

 

“You do too. Come on!” She reaches and pulls Trixie behind her with a gleeful giggle while Trixie resists a little. Katya has nothing on her, not at this angle anyway. Her messy bed is more inviting than a crisp, tightly tucked white duvet. Katya doesn't hesitate to kneel into it and push her jeans halfway down her thighs.

 

Trixie takes her shoulders. Her hands are cool from the cream and the shock tightens Katya's neck because the AC hasn't taken the day’s heat out of the room yet. She grasps for her hands but Trixie slides them back.

 

“Hey. Slow down.” Her raspy voice turns Katya around. Trixie looks down at her in her silk set that just covers her and the angle makes her face especially soft but disarmingly commanding. She motions for her to get off the bed. Katya turns and abides, hiding her tight smile and shimmying the long way down to the bottom of the bed with her jeans low on her hips, showing the high cut of the bodysuit. She thinks she hears Trixie chuff at her taking her time. But Katya can tell what kind of pissy Trixie is, if she is, by the static in the room. She is not.

 

“I have to watch you make your bed?” Katya stumbles backwards over a pair of pink fluffy slippers and stifles a laugh, not wanting to push it. Trixie pulls the duvet all the way off and shakes it out, sends her a glance. “Oh I do? Alright.” She pulls her T-shirt over her head revealing the top of her lace bodysuit. It has scalloped edges and the cups hold her breasts in a way that turn her on. She's tried it on and gotten off a couple times thinking of Trixie watching her, and fucking her, thinking of taking it off and holding it against Trixie's throat.

 

The room is cooling off and evaporating the sweat melting on their skin, under their hair. The light in the bedroom is warmer than the rest of her house and it tints Trixie’s hair a deeper golden blonde. There are also round glass bowls filled with warm fairy lights. It occurs to Katya that Trixie set up the room exactly as she wanted Katya to find it, and she arrived exactly on time.

 

Katya stands with the T-shirt balled up in her hand and watches Trixie perched over the pillow she just fluffed, her eyes stuck into the copper teeth of her jeans zipper, pulled down. She wants Katya’s pussy. They've joked about it since Katya caught her staring the first time. It became widely known enough that when she asked Trixie what she wanted from the wine table at the party, Kennedy pointed a cup at Katya and drawled “Your pussy.” 

 

But yeah, she wants to eat it, squeeze it, fuck it until Katya's eyes pop out and her eyes, nose, and lips say just that right now.

 

The sight pushes Katya’s hands down her legs to shove her jeans off, kick them to the corner of the room. She feels the right to fling her clothes around here and she tosses her shirt to the same spot.

 

“Do you want me back in now?”

 

“Yeah,” she answers quietly and settles herself on her knees in the bed. “First, would you shut off the bathroom light for me? I forgot.”

 

Again, Katya takes her request, biting her lip as she closes the bathroom door with her hand around the ridges of the glass doorknob. She can feel Trixie’s eyes glide over her ass. The moan in Katya’s mouth rolls down her spine and pushes her hips back. Her forehead thuds on the door following a crippling thump down in her core and she has to press her arm against it to counter the pressure. Behind her Trixie may be watching, still and cool like marble, burning up inside with black brown eyes and wringing the sheets in her hands so hard they trickle blood; or she may be softly fingering herself, breathing out through her nose. Trixie started out so shy on the phone a few nights ago while Katya’s heart raced waiting for her to jump in. She’s not sure if that’s the case now or if Trixie has the reins tight in hand. Or loose.

 

The gusset on her bodysuit is thickly coated and sticking to her lips when she scissors her legs. The sensation pulls out a long moan with her left hand up her neck and around her shoulder. She realizes there’s no chance she’s the one in control when Trixie’s feet creak on the wood floor behind her and her hands touch her shoulders again.

 

“Come on.” _Come on your hand, your mouth, your stomach and your back. I’ll wreck you._

 

She lets Trixie lead her butKatya stumbles with a whimper at the side of the bed with her dark hair in her face. Trixie turns to take her waist with one hand, brush her hair behind her shoulders with the other. “You look fucking amazing.” Katya wants her to stop the compliments. She knows enough by now. She doesn't feel like she can smile her heart pounds so fast. Trixie backs up and sits up against pillows while Katya comes to her and settles over her hips, feeling herself split open and drip out.

 

“Trixie.” Katya kisses her gently because her lips are sensitive from earlier in the night. She moves the corner of her mouth to Trixie’s cheek and presses into her stomach, making a noise Trixie asks her to make again. Trixie trails her nails over the backs of her thighs, reaches between her cheeks. “Oh fuck, please. Please? Please.” Trixie evenly strokes the slick skin around the gusset. Katya reaches back and under but the snaps are slippery, her fingers can’t manage them and she scrapes her damp hand through her hair, frustrated, pushing her soaked front onto Trixie’s slip. A drop rolls down her thigh when Trixie presses her cheeks together and pulls her apart. Katya lets a hopeful sob escape and sucks the rest back into her throat, pulls the silk slip up to rut against Trixie’s skin. Underneath she sees her shorts, the thin elastic waist resting between the roll of fat under Trixie’s bare breasts and the bottom one over her hips. Katya pushes the waist down so her belly is fully out.

 

“You’re running out of time. Fuck me before I turn on you,” Katya warns in as solid a voice as she can manage, even though her heart aches while she palms all the fat under Trixie’s breasts and spreads herself across her skin, wide open. Not every woman has let her touch them this intimately. Trixie is special.

 

“I don’t think you will,” Trixie whispers when she wants to respond.

 

“No I won't,” Katya quickly sobs out.

 

If she hadn’t come so hard earlier Trixie might have less resolve. “That feels so nice. I love how you touch me, you know that,” she tells her gently. Katya’s hard tight breaths slow against her chest. She slowly brushes a hand up over Katya's hip, waist, and shoulder to pat down her hair, ease her stress. Katya’s thighs are crushing hers and her sweet wet cunt squeezes around the thin strip tautly fastened over her. Trixie wants to snap it open so badly but every second pumps more blood to the pulpy flesh slipping through, seeking her out. She feels it and she knows Katya feels it each time she grinds into her stomach harder.

 

“Can you?” she asks and taps the back of Katya's thigh. Katya rises on her knees and takes her hands off Trixie, wipes her eyes. Trixie checks out her legs at this angle and thinks later she might try to rest her face in the muscular cuts inside Katya’s thighs, they’re so magnificent. When she meets her eyes again she puts a hand against the wall behind her, pushes herself down like sliding underwater in a pool. All the air is out of her lungs and she holds Katya’s thighs so she won’t smother her immediately before she can take a breath.

 

“Down.” Katya drops to her chin, shifts up over her mouth. Trixie tongues around the fabric, one side scraping up it while the other side glides over Katya’s folds, sucking in her soft skin and hair soaked with come. To snap it open she loops her index finger through, gives it a tug but the buttons are new, stubborn, and she has to use both hands to undo them. When she does Katya shouts ‘Thank God, what the fuck’, thumps the wall.

 

Her taste is so familiar Trixie’s eyes tear up realizing how much she’s missed sex. She used to have it so regularly, however enjoyable it was, she just assumed she'd always _have_ it. 

 

But blended with Katya's perfume and every kind thing Trixie can remember her doing, the times she smiles so big just to see her, and the times she's so small and trusting, Katya's taste is something totally new she hasn’t been brave enough to want. 

 

The small hard movements over her face and Katya's hands pressed against the wall help Trixie push her tongue inside her, flicking in and up, moaning when Katya moans and streaks more come across her cheeks. She remembers her own hands and grips her Katya's ass again, digging into the hot muscles and dragging her short fingernail across her perineum. 

 

Katya's motions stop and one hand leaves the wall to grip Trixie’s hair hard.

 

“My clit, fuck--please, touch it.” Trixie grazes gently between the swollen folds around the bridge of her nose with the pad of her thumb, not wanting to shock her with a hard touch. She finds the small firm ridge and feels the slight shudder of Katya's thighs around her head. She won’t last long. 

 

“Push up. Yeah. Let me look at you.” Katya obeys quickly without snarking about it and suddenly Trixie panics about her little hands on the raw wood and splinters. She talks her down onto her back without getting much of a look. 

 

“I'm not breakable,” Katya says somewhat joking, having had a few seconds to catch a breath.

 

“Am I being overly gentle?” Trixie states more than asks once she’s above her. Katya shakes her head and rolls the flossy satin straps down her shoulders. They look like they should be cut with a sharp edge. The whole outfit should be shredded it's so frail against her gorgeous muscled body padded with a stubborn little tummy and round ass. It doesn't deserve to cover her. Trixie bites at the lace over her nipples, too worked up now to spend time, sucks her into her mouth and scratches the fabric with her teeth. It’s frustratingly resilient even as Katya rolls and wails underneath her. With her face buried in Katya's tits, her right hand pulling the deliciously thick hair over her mound, Trixie hears her unzip the back, rushes to pull the bodysuit up and off her body. It releases like a tender snakeskin.

 

Katya is stunning. She lays against the white pillows with her arms up over her head and her legs spread wide, letting Trixie sit between them and stare. She’s full, heavy, and wet even though Trixie just sucked her dry.

 

Before she starts anything else Trixie slides into her deep as she can, feeling her tight around her but not resistant. Katya winces, a little wrinkle of pain crosses her nose and quickly releases. Trixie doesn't check if she's okay, she feels her squeeze down on her fingers fast, sees her breathe with fluttery lashes and look down into her eyes with large pupils as she tickles her inside. Trixie also doesn't think of how much she loves fucking women this time. Only Katya. She's spectacular.

 

Trixie does ask if she can bite even though she has before. Being given permission sends heat from her stomach all the way up through her tongue when she clutches her teeth around mouthfuls of fat on Katya's ass, greased with come. Once she's licked and scraped up all she can she latches onto her neglected clit. Whatever her technique, it’s pointless. Katya grabs her hair again and rubs into her mouth brutally hard, comes fast screaming her name until her ears ring.

 

\--

 

“Are you ready now?”

 

Trixie laughs and tucks her knees and shoulders deeper into the pillows she's laid over. It's endlessly entertaining, Katya laying naked on her side next to her, begging to touch her. She could spend the night like this. It took Katya a few minutes to rebound and she's spent the last half hour bringing up snacks and water for them, feeding Trixie, kissing her cheeks and ears, keeping her hands to herself.

 

“Hmm. Check my thighs first.”

 

Katya grins and scrunches her face. “Such a fucking tease,” she says with no dislike of it while pushing herself up, leaving one of her black and grey flowered arms stretched in Trixie’s sight. Trixie flexes her legs into the pillow under her hips looking at ink lines she knows by heart, shudders under Katya's fingers up the back of her knee, up her thigh, lifting the edge of her silk shorts. She almost turns over and if she did she'd let Katya do just about anything right now.

 

“Can you like … turn that arm into a dick, imbued with humanity?” She returns to sucking her own shoulder.

 

“What the fuck did you have in your fridge and did I also eat it?” Katya laughs with her hand stilled. Trixie wiggles under her. “I'm sure we can find something fitting the description on Etsy.”

 

“Ew, why would you get a dildo off Etsy?”

 

“You suggested we sever and animate my arm into a cock, is that not what Etsy is for?” Katya’s hand lays on her thigh and she taps it to punctuate her speech.

 

“Not literal--I'd like to sit next to you while you visit Etsy, we’re experiencing different things.”

 

“Yeah I think you're talking about Pinterest.” She resumes tickling Trixie’s thigh.

 

Trixie swings her feet behind her, trying to slap Katya’s arm. “I hate ‘cock’. I prefer ‘dick’.”

 

“Okay. I'll be sure never to threaten you with my raging cock,” Katya says with a tired laugh. “Oh! Since you're not really like, _there_ \--right?--let me get something.” She’s full of energy again and Trixie rouses to argue, too late because Katya is already out. Trixie rolls to her side and swings her legs over the bed, hesitates, then heads to the bathroom to clean herself up a little before Katya returns. Her thighs are a mess. A few tissues do the job. Before getting back to her bed Trixie dips her fingers in just for the satisfaction. There's a familiar distance and solitude she used to seek after she made a woman come, though she often sought out someone else to share the solitude with. She doesn't want that anymore.

 

“Katya?” she calls down from her bedroom door. For a few moments Trixie thinks she may have snuck out to smoke but that would be impossible with no clothes. She's pretty sure, anyway. Katya's footsteps on the bottom step assure her and she turns back to her bed.

 

“Impatient? That was sort of my secondary goal. You know once I’m in that pussy, I’m leaving the rest of you behind.”

 

“Oh are you?” Trixie replies, trying to play into the joke.

 

“I’m grabbin’ it, puttin’ a hat on it, and running.” That gets a real laugh. Katya knows she's nervous. Her sharp teeth are the most off kilter ones and she throws her head back showing them while sitting with her knees bent in front of her.

 

While she laughs, Katya folds herself in next to her and places the wrapped present in her right hand.

 

“I want to give you your present early, if now's a good time,” she explains, like Trixie would actually refuse it. It's been a while since she's given someone a gift, let alone a girlfriend.

 

“You got me a present. Of course you did, you're so cute,” Trixie grins, tearing the sparkly dark blue tissue paper. Katya leans into her shoulder, a little terrified that the gift will be anticlimactic. The concert tickets are insurance in case the book underwhelms.

 

“Did you ever read those?” she asks, unable to tolerate the few moments of quiet. Trixie nods. “Well I had a huge crush on the blonde. She has nothing on you, at all, but … I realized you kinda remind me of her? It's like I've always had a crush on you.” Trixie’s eyes roll and her face turns. “In a way that isn't creepy.”

 

“Don’t say it’s creepy!” Trixie’s voice cracks.

 

“I'm just kidding,” she says and nuzzles Trixie’s cheek.

 

“Don't,” Trixie pouts with a tight smile, holding the book out and looking at it like a framed memory.

 

“Open it up, there's something else inside.” Trixie opens the pages to where there's an envelope. Inside are two printed tickets to see Garbage in Brooklyn in late October.

 

Trixie smiles wide now and her eyes shine. Katya's heart beats faster.

 

“Remember? You said Shirley Manson--”

 

“I know. I remember.”

 

Katya pulls an extra pillow up and lays back, pulls her down, feels Trixie’s body get tighter as she soaks her bare chest. She lightly fingers over Trixie’s hair without disturbing the dense curls. The weight of her trusting body is so rewarding.

 

“What are you going through?” Katya asks, pulling her hair off her face. Katya knows there are tissues nearby but it doesn’t bother her so she doesn’t get them.

 

“October,” she croaks.

 

“October?” Katya slowly understands. “Baby. I’m not gonna move back to the city. Got it?”

 

Trixie nods quickly. “Sometimes I think about how you drove right past me and my crappy town on the highway. When we were young, you know?” Her voice is trapped. Katya strokes her thumb on her shoulder and waits.

 

“She wasn't sweet. She didn't want anyone to know about us. She only liked me a certain way. It hurt so much and I never got over it.”

 

Katya waits a few beats until she knows Trixie is finished. “You're sensitive.”

 

“I am!” The slight shrill of her shout makes Katya wince. “What's wrong with that?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“It would have been great to know you a lot sooner. But since that couldn't happen maybe it's more like, you came back to me.” She won't look at Katya despite knowing she's waiting for her. If this doesn't work out her weak heart is done and she could never tell her that.

 

Katya wriggles lower under, kisses the top of her head over and over and hugs her tighter.

 

“So tight. S’nice.” Trixie’s wet mouth is mashed into Katya's chest and she's not hiccuping anymore. “Oh, also? I’m sitting in a swamp.” Katya's silent laugh rocks them.

 

When she raises herself Katya licks under her bottom lip, bringing Trixie’s tongue into her mouth. She can't find a way to speak around Trixie’s lips kissing her. She runs her hands down over Trixie’s stomach, one of the spots she loves Katya to touch, and it distracts her enough she can maneuver a little.

 

“Come on, give me a proper chance. I want you at least as much as you want me.” She presses Trixie’s hips and Trixie rolls to her back in a heap, collapsed as though she landed from the ceiling. Dramatic, with a naughty smile. Katya runs her hands over her flushed face, takes a couple of deep breaths before rising and turning onto her knees to arrange Trixie’s massive, shapely legs.

 

“Jesus.” She reaches for the shorts with shaky fingers and pulls the waistband halfway down and hears Trixie gasp. “Okay?”

 

“Yes.” She closes her teeth and tongue over the ‘s’ but it's silent and Katya drops her eyes, keeps pulling them down. Trixie helps as little as necessary. Then her smooth, glossy pink cunt peeks between her thighs. Katya freezes on the spot and Trixie grins deeply, pushes them off for her.

 

Something rough roars up Katya's throat but she doesn’t register the sound. Sweat prickles her lower back. Her mouth is so dry. Katya realizes in a daze it's been hanging open.

 

She scrapes her lips with her teeth, finds sparse spit stuck in the corners and there's a wet oasis in front of her.

 

Thinks of elementary school, pressing hard on the button on the water fountain at the playground, leaning into the flow with wet socks on her feet from the puddle around the pedestal, sticking her tongue in and letting it rush through her mouth before her mother grabbed her away because it was filthy.

 

Touches the back of her tongue to the pool spilling where Trixie’s graciously held herself open. She doesn’t lick or suck, only moves her face to apply her tongue, having to look far up to meet Trixie’s eyes. Trixie breathes heavier, hisses and prods Katya’s cheek with her finger. Katya shoves her hands under Trixie’s thighs, presses her fingers deep into her cheeks to get her to lift up. She remembers the first time she squeezed her ass and Trixie said it was too hard, ‘for now.’ Trixie drags a pillow underneath herself for Katya to settle in comfortably. After Katya pulls away, licks it all back and swallows, Trixie rests her wet hand by her mouth.

 

Trixie is letting her take the time she wants and she does, getting to know how she works. She’s sticking to the sheets herself by the time Trixie loses patience, bucking and trying to grab Katya’s face and hands.

 

“I’ve kinda liked waiting,” Katya says, pulling apart the crease between Trixie’s thigh and stomach to lick into it. “‘Cause I never worshipped another person’s body like this. And every fucking inch,” she moans between her tongue and the salty, tart skin under her breast, “all I think about is you.” Katya presses inside and kisses her, bracing her other hand beside her head next to the pillow. She wishes she'd taken the slip off but she doesn't want to stop. Trixie is so happy. Katya's face is right over hers when she comes.

 

\--

 

Although she's still consumed by thoughts of Kameron, or rather thoughts of trying not to think of her, getting closer to Trixie has brought back an older, deeper nostalgia for Katya. For a long time she hoped it would never return because it ached so deeply. But it's back. And to her surprise, and slight fascination, it doesn't hurt anymore.

 

Even though technically Alaska was her first girlfriend, Raja completely eclipsed her and cast a warm shadow over future loves and lovers, too. It's the only past relationship she had no desire to end, including Kameron. With Kameron, the roots rotted long before the flowers dropped their last petals, no matter how alluring they had once been. It had to stop.

 

Raja taught Katya what being cared for felt like. And she didn't realize how much better she could feel until she met Raja. Katya's mother’s response to a headache, for example, sounded like “I have a headache, too.” Raja rubbed her temples and made her tea, cuddled her and let her sleep over in her room, even with the risk of being her RA. When she'd spin out over a project or complain about a medium she didn't like, which was most of her freshman year foundation coursework, Raja could sensibly ground her. When she felt better again, Katya thanked her abundantly on her knees.

 

By Katya’s junior year, Raja’s senior year, they found a room in a house off campus together. Each told their families they were going to the other’s for Christmas. They spent winter break in their room lit with strings of blue lights, listened to nothing but  _Diva_ , worked on art projects, and tried out lube samples with no housemates to disturb them. Katya's been very happy and in love at times since then, but never again like that. 

 

Raja kind of spoiled Katya’s expectations, spending five years with one very attentive woman. They were deeply in love and so young with few obligations beyond each other. After Katya graduated MassArt they’d had a little over a year together in Boston before the bottom caved in. Raja and her family are LA based and a job offer back home tipped the scales.

 

Freshly 23 year old Katya begged her to stay for less than five minutes knowing she had nothing to keep her. Their last time, Raja carefully eased out and tried not to make a sound loosening the harness buckles but did so quickly because she had to be dressed in minutes. Her packed boxes were stacked neatly in a corner, ready to be taken downstairs as soon as a mutual friend who already lived out there arrived with a U-Haul to help her drive home to the West Coast. Chit chatting, stopping for fast food and listening to burned mix CDs along the way.

 

Once Raja rode off and the door stayed shut for good, Katya laid in their bed which was now just her bed long after the sun went down, wrapped in her bleach blonde hair until she was too hungry and couldn’t hold her bladder any longer.

 

It took several years of hookups back home in NYC before Pearl became the hookup Katya wanted to see again and again. After their first time meeting at a club they met a second time a year later, each with dates at a party. Pearl hardly recognized Katya as a brunette. From college through her early 20s she’d transitioned from abominable yellow blonde to approximately platinum. When she started seeing Pearl in earnest her hair was in a short, almost black blunt bob. The color and style sharpened her cheeks and deepened her eyes, and in combination with her penchant for lace up leather halters and heavy studded belts, Katya oozed an aesthetic of dominance that Pearl bought into.

 

Pearl was away for chunks of each week or longer chasing the late stages of her modeling career, and as soon as she came home she needed Katya desperately. Katya could handle her being a full-time pillow princess since it was only a part-time job. Pearl was fun and helped her ride out her 20s in scene-y clubs and after parties. Hypnotically beautiful, which sometimes caught Katya off-guard.

 

Their time together felt black and mossy. Elegant and soft. Soporific. Cool. Katya never expected them to last forever. She was 29 when Pearl agreed she felt the same.

 

Kameron was it. They didn’t get married because their funds were devoted to trying to conceive. And they didn’t need marriage, it seemed. They could buy each other’s groceries without lists and make each other’s private non-meal meals that they’d never eaten in front of other people. Like peanut butter mixed with hemp milk and cocoa powder, in a bowl, stirred and eaten with a knife.

 

Kameron appeared shortly after Katya turned 31 and could think of no reason not to settle down for this peculiar rainbow inked introvert who had Good Plans. She opened up to Katya slowly, strung her along before trusting her. Katya’s wooing antics had matured since she’d had to campaign for Raja. No polaroids of her tits with googly eyes over the nipples slid into Kameron’s mailbox, which hadn't worked on Raja, either.

 

No, Kameron wanted to know Katya’s plans, her intentions. She had her own. She knew how to make them happen. She had value. She motivated Katya to become a consultant, to get paid more. Although she tends to be quiet and shy, Kameron has an intense performative side she brings out for work as a personal trainer. She has enough rich clients she can charge some more and others less. And they all love her. She does well.

 

She has a good family, too, and Katya also kind of fell in love with Kameron's mother. She adored Katya and spoiled them both. Sent them packages from Nashville like they were at summer camp. Each night before Kameron would end their daily chat, she'd put her phone on speaker for her mom to tell them both goodnight and ‘I love you, girls’.

 

_“She knows I fuck you mercilessly after you end the call, right? Or try to at least, if nothing new is on Netflix.”_

 

_“She can't envision it. In her mind, at most, we cuddle and light up like ET, giggle and fall asleep.”_

 

Lately Katya can think of her for longer stretches of time before the guilt physically shuts her down.

 

It’s how she could tell Trixie about all of it without blacking out.

 

And when she told her, Trixie’s feet never moved once. Afterwards Katya said if she wanted to go home it would be okay, she was a mess now anyway. Trixie insisted they go to the party to show each other off.

 

She then fetched makeup wipes from her car--purchased after she didn't have them last time they were needed--and cleaned her up. Familiar. 

 

\--

 

**October**

 

The mid-morning train is not busy and this stop is too far East to need to line up in advance on the platform. The air is chilly, finally, and today is drizzly. The wiper blades have wet oak leaves stuck under them, dropped acorns and brush line the vents. They wait parked across the street in Trixie’s Yukon listening to the party playlist that they’ve been listening to since August. Right now _Oh Yeah!_ by Roxy Music plays even though Trixie says it’s too sappy for the moment.

 

Katya will be gone pretty much the rest of the month. She has arranged client meetings which she’s excited about, hopeful that she can get up her interest level enough. This is something that continues to plague her about her ‘career’ compared with Trixie’s, more so now than when she didn’t know her at all. Trixie committed early and never stopped, and she hates the work sometimes but in a harmless shoulder shrug kind of way. She’s fully immersed in a whole universe. Katya still feels fresh out of college in this regard, un-immersed in anything. She’s also scheduled the first in person appointments she’s had with her therapist in months, since well before the summer.

 

And Trixie will come in to meet her at the end of the month for the concert. And drive her home.

 

They’ve enjoyed a lot of bliss in the last six weeks. There was a nice birthday party planned for Trixie, ignited by a couple of the straight staff globbing on to the periphery of the pod and getting them all out to a local bar in town with live music. Katya noticed Trixie having a long talk with Farrah, and although Farrah was weeping it didn't seem bad.

 

Katya is definitely not living with Trixie. Every few days she goes back to her house and swaps the outfits she has, empties the mailbox if needed. And once a week she sleeps at home until Trixie asks ‘but why though?’ But no, not living together.

 

It's hard to help Trixie understand a dissolved adult relationship. She's compassionate and supportive but she doesn't get deeper things, and it means Katya has to explain and defend them when she doesn’t want to. Like going back to the city in no way means any chance of returning to Kameron. And even though she will not be seeing her, it's not okay for Trixie to ‘forbid’ it. Unlike TV shows, hearts stay broken, exes stay apart and people manage the pain forever. Trixie can understand that last part. 

 

“There it is.” Trixie sees her train coming before Katya does.

 

“Are you trying to rush me out of here?” Katya jokes. Trixie’s head drops to rest on her window, away from her. “I know, baby. I love you,” Katya says and leans over. Trixie turns and takes her face, gives her a huge kiss with cheeks that are going to cry as soon as Katya leaves. Katya will leave quickly to let her. Her thick blue and white plaid fleece jacket bunches around her shoulders and Katya grasps her low ponytail. With no tan left Trixie looks ten years younger, at least.

 

“I love you,” Trixie says back, smiling at the key as she turns on the car. Katya slips out and Trixie watches her rush to the platform with her travel bag, an old hoodie since her warm clothes are back in the city, and her ratty sex hair pulled up and spilling over a claw clip. Before coming to the station they parked by one of the small beaches, all but abandoned now because of the season and the weather. There was one idiot walking his dog outside on the beach and Katya slowed down in her lap. Trixie sneered ‘fuck him it's not a dog beach’ and finished her off in the backseat. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had [ this bodysuit ](https://kikidm.com/collections/bodysuits/products/stretch-lace-bodysuit-black?variant=6482555535387) in mind for Katya since the very beginning because I’m horny and expensive.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five minutes later she has Raja’s number. She says she's so happy to hear from her. Katya's legs bounce under the table as they start to text. 
> 
> Another ten minutes later Katya lets herself be coaxed into a phone call. Raja says she feels in her gut something is wrong and wants to talk to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two new chapters for y'all but didn't post both at once because this one took me forever and it's hard and I don't want it buried behind the next one which is all sunshine. 
> 
> CW: someone threatening to do something hostile, it's in a flashback to the final couples therapy between Katya and Kameron. Easy to skip it, it's right at the start in a block of italics. 
> 
> Also, a panic attack. I aim to include mental health care and struggles in ways that are true to personal experience, not to say this is How It Is. 
> 
> The next chapter brings us out of the tunnel, back where we belong, literally there's a scene driving out of a tunnel :) 
> 
> I'd love feedback because I'm curious and a bit scared as to how Raja's appearance in this chapter will be read! Or just, you liked it and you can say that too, I LOVE that :) :) :)

A week before the end of October the apartment is completely packed up and stacked with Rubbermaid bins, cardboard boxes, and quite a few Hefty bags. There are handfuls of items of a certain ‘brand new with tags’ category all in one box to be donated directly to a nearby shelter.

 

That box caused a nasty fight after Katya and Kameron ended things, even with their couples therapist mediating.

  

_“Leaving them behind feels like it's about making me feel bad,” Katya says with her elbow on the arm of her side of the therapy couch, her hand flipped out in surrender._

 

_She and Kameron face forward on opposite ends, maximizing the distance between them. There aren't other chairs available aside from where Dr. Davis sits with her yellow legal pad and heavy refillable pen. Katya had noticed the lack of seating from the start but it didn't have such an impact until these last couple of sessions._

 

_“I don't live to make you feel like shit, Katya, you do that yourself by your actions. You can do the fucking work of dealing with them.” The rock hard look on Kameron’s face is nothing like the tears Katya is used to consoling. She looks a bit gaunt because she stopped stimming from the last cycle, and from not eating well._

 

_Something shifted in the last few weeks and Kameron now seems to have a different approach to their dissolution._

 

_When Kameron takes her finger out of Katya's face and looks back at Dr. Davis, Katya looks, too, hoping to see which version of reality the therapist might reflect. She doesn't generally pick sides but she does call bullshit when it is absolute._

 

_“Okay,” Dr. Davis replies, inflecting with the tone of a question. “Can we agree Kameron will not be taking them?”_

 

_“It's not a question, I'm not fucking doing it! I'll soak them in gasoline before I take that fucking box with me.”_

 

_This is what I mean, Katya thought. Don't you see? She won't stop until … what, what does she want?_

 

_Dr. Davis asks if she is speaking literally and Kameron immediately confirms no, she is not, but she’s scared that as soon as her stuff is out, and there's nothing more between them, Katya will get away with it free as a bird._

 

_“Free from all the things she never wanted in the first place, her life will be heaven. My life is hell. It's hell.”_

 

_Katya agrees the box of collected and gifted onesies, blankies, and tiny Beatrix Potter-themed baby dish sets--so perfect for photos of first sweet potatoes--will stay at the apartment, shoved in one of the much emptier closets. If that's how she wants Katya to taste her hell, so be it._

 

 

It wasn't supposed to be the last session but Kameron got to work that night publishing her side of their story on Facebook, tagging Katya, then blocking her. That's where she chose to pour the gasoline.

 

But today the late afternoon sun is gorgeous and still warm enough, the breeze is light and cool, and Katya sits on a bench in the Allen Street Mall near her apartment on a call with Trixie. She sent Trixie a photo of her apartment all packed up, the only one she's shown her since the furnishings had looked too much like someone could ‘live laugh love’ there. She doesn’t want Trixie to think that.

 

Not quite the only photo. She took some not at all tasteful bathtub selfies and sent the best ones to Trixie. But she couldn't take them in the bedroom. Or anywhere else. The bathtub felt neutral.

 

Fire engines then an ambulance flying down the street interrupted them and Katya plugs her ears. With the sound a block past her and drowning out, Katya tries to resume their conversation. Trixie resists, answering in ‘huh’ and ‘unh’ like she has her thumbnail between her teeth. Katya gets a little sick of it.

 

“Yeah and then the ceiling melted down onto my face,” she says to test if Trixie is listening. It's not like Trixie can't go back to work if she needs to, Katya doesn’t expect to be entertained on the phone like a child.

 

Trixie breathes a frustrated sigh. “I’m paying attention, Kat. I’m also tired.” She clears her throat and breathes in and out a few times saying nothing. Katya waits, pictures her resting her forehead in her fingers. “Three weeks apart--it feels like I made us up.”

 

Katya tuts sweetly. “I know baby. I know. It's so intense at the beginning.”

 

The pause tells Katya that Trixie’s face has reeled back. “What does that mean? This is just routine for you? It fades?”

 

“Trixie, stop,” she says, looking around quickly to see if she’d been too loud. “I don't like it when you make the worst of something I’ve said.” She consciously calms her voice.

 

Trixie does not. “Well I don't like it when you diminish how intensely I feel.”

 

Enough strangers walk past her tense conversation with their shoulders clenched in ‘ignoring this’ pedestrian pose that Katya packs up and walks back to her building. She walks fast and at the stairs tells Trixie she'll call her back so the call doesn't drop. It's a fib because the call wouldn't drop in the stairwell. She needs a break from pregnant pauses and throaty exclamation points.

 

Once inside she takes her time to pee and browse for dinner on Seamless. Without Trixie she hasn't felt the same desire to cook. Katya eventually texts her to say she's starving and wants to talk after she's eaten.

 

Trixie leaves her on ‘Read’.

 

\--

 

It's nearly 9pm when Katya calls her back after she’s shoved the takeout bags down the trash chute in the hallway. She is surprised by the lack of prodding texts. Trixie answers with a loud exhale through her nose. She's still at Marigold, up in her office. Katya tells her she should be at home. Trixie says she doesn't feel she has a reason to be there.

 

“There is a reason. I won't settle down ‘til I know my raw milkshake is safe and sound.” Trixie’s glorious laugh blows out the phone’s speaker. Katya slides down to the floor, sits against the side of the couch. There's not much left in the way of seating and it doesn't feel right sitting in old furniture.

 

“Can we just cancel this fight?” she asks when Trixie quiets down. “It's stressful being apart, we can chalk it up to that.”

 

“Yeah. I don't know what else to say anyway.” She yawns with a high pitched noise. “It’s hard when you're not here flipping your hair around, making me forget what I'm mad about.”

 

“That reminds me I need it cut.” The thought puts a pit in her stomach. More cash trickling from her bank account. “You’d better start paying me for my live-in stripper services.”

 

“What more do I get if I pay?"

 

“I’ll shower weekly.”

 

“Uh oh. Wouldn’t want to dissolve your exoskeleton. Have to keep the mystery alive!” She’s being campy and over the top while whipping out words Katya hasn’t heard since sketching bones and organs in the biolab in college. She couldn't be more in love. She has never been more in love than this.

 

Katya laughs and retrieves her cigarettes and lighter hoping to stealth-smoke one. Not because she can fool Trixie who can tell when she talks faster so she can take a drag, but she figures she at least owes her the effort of being discreet.

 

“Katya?”

 

“Mm?” she utters around the fresh lit cherry.

 

Trixie sighs and grumbles. “You're the most beautiful person I could ever imagine.” Katya stamps the end of the lighter against her knee and lets the paper burn. “I tease you endlessly but … you’re beautiful and brilliant and I’m lucky and I love you.” Her office chair creaks in the background. She sounds out of breath she's so excited to tell her. “I love you so much it hurts.”

 

 _This woman_. “I want you to go home before you get tired,” Katya says with a loud grin that practically splits her face. “I love you a lot.” Trixie pours it on heavy. It's unexpected in contrast with all the pieces her she still holds behind her back. But drowning in Trixie's anxious love feels perfect right now.

 

\--

 

The next morning Katya wakes to find the electricity shut off.

 

However long it's been since the last time she remembered to pay the monstrous accumulated ConEd bill, they’ve actually shut it off. Somewhere in the rubber banded stacks of mail there are likely several notices warning her of this impending action.

 

Her phone is half charged so she calls and pays it, avoids crying on the call when they tell her it will be turned back on within 24 hours but they don’t know when. She gets dressed in a rush and heads out the door not wanting to spend another minute in the apartment without electricity.

 

Something is off.

 

Exiting the building’s slate lobby through the heavy glass door Katya is overwhelmed with the desire to be back in Trixie’s house. It smells nice. Being there feels like calling out sick when she's not. Having a snow day. And being away makes the things that trouble her feel bigger than she can carry if something--anything--happens. She recover out there. Here she is an island.

 

Her headphones pick up Trixie's playlist, the one she's been listening to for weeks and weeks. She skips and skips and skips songs until she realizes that's all she's doing without listening to them. She's barely aware she's safely made it across numerous crosswalks when she's across the street from Blue Bottle Coffee, a small, intense chain of shops where they worship the beans while you nobly wait pretending to appreciate it. After her order is taken she stakes out a tiny Scandi table with an outlet and USB port.

 

\--

 

Her laptop is like a fourth wall folded up to box her into her little corner table, the one she snagged from a pair of douchebag millionaires once they were done jerking themselves off over their respective teams’ launches and expansions. Her screensaver plays a light show. She’s only using it for architecture.

 

_“It would be great if you could reach out to an old friend. Do you believe anyone could be over it? A year, year and a half later?”_

 

This is the suggestion her therapist posed at her last session, that she might give a former friend a call, try to reconnect. Literally a telephone call, like she envisions Katya sitting with an address book and a corded phone pressing buttons. She's old and Katya usually finds it comforting.

 

It would be great. It would also require aggressively texting people and waiting in horror, unless some have unblocked her. She doesn't want to go through and try each door. She’s certain someone would have reached out to her if they’d opened theirs.

 

The playlist comes to a song Katya knows so well. She listens to it once and then starts it over.

  
_Don't I belong to you baby_ _  
Don't you know that nothing can tear us apart_

 

When it's almost finished she starts it over once more.

 

 _Come on now come on now come on now_ _  
_ _Telling you that I loved you right from the start_

 

She’s too wound up to get lost in it but the song awakens memories deep in her stomach. This song was her and Raja. It was their winter break locked away under blue string lights, not needing to believe in anything because everything was right there before them.

 

As the song plays on repeat, Katya opens Instagram. She looks through Raja's recent posts to screen for deaths in the family, posts about going offline for a while, or any other glaring reasons to stop in her tracks. It's all banal. She doesn't know today’s Raja any better than an anonymous follower. Raja is an art director for films, married to a makeup artist, Raven, though Katya doesn't know dates. She looks excruciatingly the same but with dense silver in her hair. Not wiry strands but maddeningly thick swaths of shiny grey.

 

She opens a message window because she doesn’t have her phone number. The appropriate tone of greeting is impossible to find. Just to get it out of her system she types out what she wants to say, screenshots it for her satisfaction, then deletes it:  _Heyyy we haven't spoken in fifteen years but you loved me once and you've been inside the middle of my body. Can we talk?_

 

It's a blessing there’s no way Raja could possibly see her typing and deleting a dozen times. For all she knows Raja doesn’t check these messages so whatever she sends could sit there for hours. Forever.

 

She sends a short, cheerful intro and waits. The notion that in a single lifetime they could be _them_ and later on Katya would have to use as few words as possible to find out if Raja cares to notice her … strikes her as incompatible with the ability to love.

 

Five minutes later she has Raja’s number. She says she's so happy to hear from her. Katya's legs bounce under the table as they start to text. 

 

Another ten minutes later Katya lets herself be coaxed into a phone call. Raja says she feels in her gut something is wrong and wants to _talk_ to her.

 

Katya decides to stay inside for the call but Raja calls her ‘baby’ once--once--and she's headed for a r/PublicFreakout.

 

With Katya still on the phone, Raja books a red eye from LAX to LGA to arrive the next morning.

 

\--

 

The electricity had been restored by the time she re-entered her apartment after ending the call. She'd forgotten all about it. Texts from Trixie waited on her phone that she didn't know what to do with.

 

Then there were texts from Raja with flight and hotel information that securely bandaged her soul for the rest of the day.

 

A week ago Katya had meant to make calls to moving companies, knowing they take time to reserve. Every day made it more stressful. But the sky grew darker quickly and she grew hyper over Raja's arrival in less than 10 hours.

 

The next morning she perches on one of the two living room window sills to smoke. It's dark at 5am. She thinks about whether she should have gone to the airport. It would only mean catching a cab back here together. Which may have been nice. It's too late now though.

 

 **_Raja_ ** _: Just landed_

_Will die in taxi_

_(from exhaustion)_

 

Katya jumps into action with nothing to do. She texts back to ask if she feels like having coffee or if she wants to go to her hotel first or what. Raja answers that it's too early check in, which Katya was too excited to remember, so she's coming straight to the apartment. Nothing to do but wait for her.

 

Half an hour and three cigarettes later she gets a new text.

 

 **_R_ ** _: Got out a couple blocks away (I think?) for coffee bc I saw it’s open_

_Do you want_

_?_

 

 **_K_ ** _: Oh_

 

She doesn’t.

 

 **_K_ ** _: No, I don’t want to wait_

 

It’s close to 6am now. The sky is dark blue and the birds chirp in the trees down the mall on Allen Street.

 

At 5:59am the buzzer rings and Katya walks slowly towards it. When she presses the button to let her in, it’s like creating a wormhole for Raja to pass through.

 

She waits in her doorway, too nervous to step outside in case it locks her out. It’s not possible but if it happened they’d be fucked and she cant fuck this up.

 

Because they never saw each other again after Raja drove away fifteen years ago. This can not be real.

 

There she is. Right at the top step.

 

“Shhh! Neighbors,” Katya whispers, pointing to the doors down the hall and quietly jumping in her cow print socks. Trixie got them for her after she explained the cow skin rug in her bedroom was from a dairy cow she had adored on the ranch in Colorado. The cow broke a leg one morning and had to be put down. One of the old ranchers was sweet on her, more in a fatherly way than anything else, so he had the rug made as a gift which was horrifying but she couldn’t turn it down. The socks were an homage to the infamy of how hard Katya laughed at it.

 

“Wow,” Raja whispers once she reaches the doorstep. Katya looks up and puts her hands high on her smooth chest without thinking. They’re both sleep deprived, granted, but Katya swears she can’t see how she’s aged at all. She doesn’t have any makeup on. Her skin is exactly the same. Her mouth is the same. Like her pictures but not.

 

With each passing second Katya’s past reinflates, not with the memories of it but its actual air and molecules.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Yes.”

 

\--

 

Raja didn't get any coffee for herself, either. She ordered and paid for it but when Katya texted that she didn't want to wait, she understood and left to get to her that many minutes faster. She had just a carry-on, no checked luggage.

 

They stood and hugged tightly for a long time after the front door closed. Raja's black T-shirt and denim jacket felt cold on Katya's face because she'd walked several blocks in the near dark in October. Katya asked if she brought anything warmer and Raja hugged her tighter. Afterwards they sat close together facing each other on the couch and laughed at each other, making a show of drying their eyes. Then they chatted briefly, superficially, about their current states of affairs before agreeing more sleep was in order. Katya offered Raja her bed and took the couch for herself.

 

She's asleep now in Katya's bed.

 

At 10am Katya's alarm goes off though she was already awake quietly puttering. She felt like she should know where they ought to go, try not to be the host with no plans. If this qualifies as ‘hosting’.

 

That was Kameron's thing. Always with the plans. Always having their weekends booked out. Always wanting to know what Katya intended to do with a day off, when she took one. With the pleasure of having plans went the burden and Katya was happy to be rid of both, but Raja is the first person she's played host to since then and it's weighing down her stomach.

 

The sun is perfectly bright, she feels good and also a creeping guilt that Raja is even here, disrupting her life for her. There are dozens of bakeries in Chinatown she likes to get breakfast from and she can walk there and back in 40 minutes. She touches the window pane to see how cold it is and takes a heavy scarf.

 

The corrosive fish smell is one she remembers from childhood because, for all his unpleasant obsessions, her father insisted on dining out for authentic Chinese food instead of ordering in from wherever was nearest. It was always a memorable, happy journey downtown. From the narrow, densely stocked shops between the restaurants Katya amassed a collection of paper fans that rolled and snapped, silk lined flip top lipstick cases with tiny mirrors glued inside, and embroidered Mary Janes in black, red and electric blue. The next day she would heat up the wonton soup they ordered after dinner to take back uptown with them but it was never quite the same. The wonton skin was too delicate.

 

The bakery isn't too busy at 10:30am so Katya can choose leisurely. She doesn't know if Raja eats meat but it doesn't matter. From the bins with tongs she chooses red bean buns with a thick, bright yellow crust brushed on top. She has to ask for someone to open the heated glass case with roast pork buns and sesame balls, still warm from the fryer.

 

She's thinking on and off about the possibility of being seen but it's not the likeliest time of day. And today she would almost welcome it. Being out here feels like a dare to the universe, or at least to the city, to throw something at her.

 

Twenty minutes later she's crossing the street to her building and absolutely nothing has happened. Raja found Katya's AeroPress and she's making them coffee from something she found that smelled okay.

 

At the corner before the door to her building Katya’s phone buzzes with a message from Trixie. She's sent a photo of herself reading the _Horse Crazy_ book Katya gave her for her birthday.

 

It's much more than that, though. She’s posed herself sitting naked in an upholstered arm chair in her living room, similar to the pose of the girl on the cover reclining on the horse, the one Katya said looks like her. The chair is turned at an angle to face the camera and she's slung her far leg over the arm. Her other leg is bent low enough to show the strip of long golden hair she leaves when she gets waxed. Something she's done with her hair has made it massive. She's blown it out, curled it, and maybe she has a pillow underneath it because there’s just so much of it. It's high on top and long over her shoulders in thick waves. She doesn't have a full face on but she’s done a wide, sharp black swoop on each eyelid.

 

It sends Katya spinning like the rest of the world has gone blurry around her, frozen with this sex grenade via text thread. She knows Trixie is sitting on her phone with it open, waiting.

 

 **_K_ ** _: Damn it. Assumed I had no other plans today?_

 

 **_T_ ** _: Boom, bitch_

_Took it last night but then I got shy_

_I'm out of my mind this morning_

 

 **_K_ ** _: Nice upholstery you got there_

_It's like … Fuck it, you're hot_

 

 **_T_ ** _: Thanks for letting that die_

 

Katya saves the photo to her phone and draws a thick, bright purple line along Trixie's stomach and another two along the insides of her calves, sends it back to her.

 

 **_K_ ** _: That's where I go_

 

 **_T_ ** _: Oh my God fuck you_

_That is so where you go_

_Need you to fuck me so bad_

 

 **_K_ ** _: Yeah?_

 

 **_T_ ** _: Date night_

 

 **_K_ ** _: I’ll make it happen!!_

_I love when you're shy. You always unhinge like a freak right after :)_

 

They set a time which Katya pushes as late as possible so she can take Raja to dinner before she goes back to her hotel. It's shaping up to be a fantastic day, Katya thinks as she bounds up the stairs.

 

\--

 

They eat in Katya's bed. Raja was awake and drinking coffee there and Katya was on cloud nine and secretly horny as hell so diving in next to her felt good. Sesame seeds and eggy crust crumbs litter the sheets between them.

 

It's well past noon when she finishes telling Raja about the last five years.

 

“Fuck her.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Kameron,” Raja says. Katya shrugs weakly. It's hardly a comfort to shit talk her ex at this point. “Oh no, let me explain. Totally out of line with how you left things, she created a public drama knowing you would never fight back. And then she let your friend circle edge you out. Maybe each one of them thought ‘I support Kameron, she's in pain.’ But she watched it all from the top. Knowing what it would do to you. She didn't try to stop it after she got her thrill from it.” She stops for Katya to get toilet paper. Katya doesn't have a box of tissues and tears are running down Raja's cheeks. She winds some around her fingers and pinches her nose after dabbing her eyes.

 

“Raja--it's not that simple, people really were angry with me. And I was lonely when I met her, and didn't make enough effort to stake out my own friendships." Raja waves her hands and shakes her head like she doesn't want to hear it. But Katya has worked her fucking heart out to make this something she can live with pretty well, most days. "Everyone was ours or hers.”

 

“I don't care about the nuances. They don't know anything about you that I don't. You're not perfect. But no fucking way could you ever deserve that. I wouldn't have let you suffer like that, if I’d been there.” Raja is too choked up now and Katya remains calm, to her own surprise. It's hard for her to process this kind of outpouring. 

 

“I'm upset that I missed a lot of your life.” Katya nods. She's sad about that, too. “There's no chance your friends don't care. It's impossible not to care about you, Katya.”

 

“I don't know about that,” Katya replies glumly. She reaches for Raja's shoulders and pulls her in. Her hair is up in a top knot and the silver is prominent throughout. Katya touches it and considers taking it down but Raja is practically on top of her and she's only human. This raging emotional support boner laying on her feels heavy as well as hot. She did feel like she was about to step off the edge of the universe for a few hours yesterday. But now Katya feels almost embarrassed that Raja is here. And guilty, and not prepared to comfort her. 

 

“Should we get up? My back is getting stiff.”

 

They each have a good stretch and Raja makes more coffee. If the beans are stale she doesn't say anything about it. She's never been snobby about that stuff. Anything, really. Katya missed that, before finding Trixie.

 

With hot cups in hand they take up the couch and sit in the corners so they can lounge. Katya has her elbows up on the edges like she's being interviewed and she feels like she is. With some prompts from Raja, she goes into more depth about Trixie and how they got together, how it's been so far.

 

“So she's tall, blonde, big titties, actual dirt dirty,” Raja lists as Katya laughs and nods to confirm. “Cowgirl femme toppy-vers?”

 

“Fuck is that?” Katya replies. Raja chuckles as Katya mentally pieces together how correct she is. “Yeah, the femme thing is debatable, she is pretty fluid. In fact I'll leave it all at ‘fluid’.” There's not a chance she's about to talk about their sex life with Raja.

 

“Point is she's great. Right? You're good for each other?” Raja asks.

 

“Yes, definitely. Without a doubt.”

 

“So where's the problem?”

 

Katya shrugs one hand and looks out her window. It's caked with city scum from not being cleaned all summer. “It scares me that I’m worn down. That I won't be able to take it. If she doesn't know how to be good in a relationship, I mean. So I feel like I have to teach her.” 

 

“Why?”

 

“Otherwise we'll fail!”

 

“I don't know,” Raja starts to counter. “When people hurt me I tend to become more powerful.”

 

“And get a huge boner,” Katya says with a conspiratorial grin. Raja cracks up, reminds Katya that she's been in love with that word since college. “I do know myself pretty well from what I went through. I think I can help her … learn--” she pauses because she can see Raja literally looking down her nose in doubt, “--and steer us clear of the rocks.”

 

“But you're not a therapist,” Raja blurts out. “You're her girlfriend.” She just said it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Your emotional intelligence isn't a throne. Stay _with_ her, with the mortals, where nothing bad has happened.”

 

 _Now who’s a fucking therapist._ She doesn’t believe she's deifying herself. It’s still a fair point.

 

“Back to all the warm fuzzy stuff. What good does she do for you?”

 

Katya beams. “She looks out for me. She fusses about my health, even small things like asking how I got a bruise.” Blood rushes to her face and speeds her talking although she can't think any faster. “Does things to make me comfortable, makes mental notes of little things I need without me even noticing. She like, carries me.” Abundant approval blooms across Raja's face.

 

“She bought a couch, just for me,” Katya adds. Raja's face cracks and she laughs.

 

“That is very, very gay.”

 

“It is.” Katya curls one knee up and grips it, relieved. “She loves me,” she says, turning her waist away from her knee to pop her spine.

 

“Sounds like it. What about your part?” Raja reaches out and squeezes Katya's bicep laid across the back of the couch. She knows she doesn't even need to flex it. She's always been stronger than she looks, but appeared more soft and willowy back then.

 

Every ridge of Raja's fingerprints tickles her inner arm and Katya's voice trembles when she starts to answer. “I build things. It's a long story and it's even more gay than the couch. But I am very useful. And I've been cooking a lot more. For us.” Raja’s eyes have narrowed and she almost looks skeptical. But Katya knows that’s not how she is. She has expressions now as a proper adult that she didn’t have when Katya knew her.

 

“She says I'm highly functional,” Katya resumes, “and I think it means something better than it sounds.”

 

“I know what it means. I'm fucking proud of you, Kat. No offense but that's a long ways from where we left off.” Katya isn't offended at all. She feels proud, too, and rolls her shoulders, preens. “You obviously love her.”

 

Katya can't say so out loud. Not to Raja. And not in this boxed up home where she was supposed to love someone else forever. She withdraws her arm and scratches at the gooseflesh, pulls her other knee up.

 

“I want to marry her,” she says weakly instead. She shakes her head quickly and looks back at Raja hoping she'll laugh, or maybe even look a little hurt. Implausible as it is. Of course Raja doesn't. She looks happy for Katya.

 

“Yeah?” Raja asks softly.

 

“Isn't it stupid?” Katya says, not really asking. She gestures vaguely towards the room.

 

“Why?”

 

“Oh come on!” Raja startles at her outburst. Katya’s arms fly up as she exclaims “Headline: ‘stupid fucking lesbian wants to marry stupider fucking lesbian five months later.’”

 

“And what, five years with Kameron made more sense?”

 

Katya shouts out loud and smashes her head into her legs, clutches her neck with her hands. “I can’t do this,” she roars into her knees. The back of her neck is cold and damp. She doesn’t remember sweating.

 

“Okay, I got you.” Raja does have her. Katya’s sitting on the floor now without recognizing how she got there.

 

\--

 

Her throat felt hot and she kept gripping her fingers along the wall searching for something to hang onto as she walked downstairs. Raja held her up around her ribs as a precaution and it made it hard for her to find the railing herself. When she swallowed she feared she would black out. All her senses crossed wires.

 

Up in the apartment when she slid herself down to the floor covered in sweat, Raja asked her if she felt she needed to go to the hospital and she laughed and said no, so she was then stretched on the couch while Raja packed up the necessities she could find. She showed Katya her medicine bag from the bathroom and asked if it had everything in it and Katya indicated ‘yes’.

 

Apparently. Katya is unclear until the point when she was already walking down the stairs. And Raja is frazzled by her asking over and over what happened for the span of five minutes when she was overwhelmed, laying on the couch.

 

Now Katya sits on the low step up to her building, too low for sitting but it’s better than standing right now. Even though people don’t look she knows they notice she’s sitting more or less on the sidewalk, which is amazingly different from sitting on a step. To be fair, she would notice. Whenever she sees people weeping or otherwise melting down on a sidewalk she feels such empathy. It's her this time, is all.

 

The concrete is cold and her leggings are too thin to keep her ass from going numb while they wait for the Uber to arrive. Four minutes is an inhumane wait time in this city.

 

Her thicker riding tights would be better. Being home with Trixie would be so much better it’s nearly impossible to imagine. If she knew where her phone was she would call and Trixie would come and get her. It would take hours but she would.

 

“Katya?” Raja stands with the car door open, waves her arm in to get Katya moving.

 

\--

 

It's somewhere between 5 and 6pm going by the intrusive orange of the early setting sun. Raja draws the blinds to block it and makes it night.

 

The hotel bed is heavenly cool. Katya squeezes under the tightly tucked cover without pulling it loose. Getting out of the car brought on a wave of embarrassed anger but standing in the hotel lobby during the infernal process of checking Raja in brought her down to earth. Now she feels a bit numb.

 

“Hungry?”

 

“Not really.” Raja looks displeased. Katya remembers she likes doing concrete actions to help. “Can you get something for me to eat later?” They agree on something Mediterranean then Raja chooses what to order for them. At least it will keep her occupied so Katya can peacefully come back into herself. She turns under the snug cover, enjoying how it crushes her shoulder.

 

Her sweater keeps bunching so she pushes it off over her head. She wants to feel like a smooth glass figurine slipped inside a protective cotton casing. Which means she wants to be a glass dildo, and she can laugh at that. Her hair crackles with static. She washed it vigorously that morning for Raja. She doesn’t remember what she expected to get out of all this at that point in time.

 

The hotel room TV comes on and a few moments later Raja lays next to her, sitting up in the bed and leaning slightly towards her. Katya thinks she is anyway. She can’t be sure because she’s faced away.

 

“Do you watch American Horror Story?”

 

Katya scoffs and the sound barely escapes around the cover she’s under. “No, but Trixie does. I try not to watch rape and that show makes it pretty much impossible.”

 

“'I try not to watch rape' _,_ God you rag,” Raja taunts. “Just say ‘no thanks’.” Katya finally breathes after laughing all the air out of her body, then coughs horribly. “You know I’m messing with you. Want you to laugh, baby.”

 

“Sure,” Katya utters through the spasm in her larynx. If her lungs didn’t ache from the coughing fit she’d question why it feels so good when Raja calls her ‘baby.’ She tries to catch her breath and hold onto it but she can’t and Raja puts her hand between her shoulder blades to soothe her. The feeling is so nearly familiar. If she arches back into it her hair might go blonde and the light might turn blue and Raja might turn her over like that Christmas fifteen years ago had never ended.

 

“We were really good together. Happy,” Katya says flatly.

 

“I know you were. Look, I’m sorry if me going ballistic about Kameron made it seem like I think you weren’t.” Katya sighs at Raja misunderstanding her. “You have to stop beating yourself up.”

 

“Us, you idiot, us. You and me.” Katya flips over which tosses Raja’s hand off her, then she reaches for it and takes it in her own. Raja slides down and faces her. Her age is more apparent at this angle, and Katya guesses the same is true for herself.

 

Whatever channel Raja chose it’s started to air _Love Island_ and Katya finds the contestants’ dialogue unbearable. “Can you turn this shit off?” she asks quietly and Raja swiftly abides, finding the remote easily since they haven’t disturbed the sheets like they would have if they were up to no good.

 

Then she’s back at Katya’s side and finds her hand again. Katya doesn’t know what this moment is but she feels so accepted for it when Raja seeks out her hand and seals it with her gorgeous fingers. Her legs tingle and she sneaks her fist between them, tight and wet inside wanting to remember her long fingers with her mouth.

 

“I know you had to leave,” Katya says fast. She realizes after she’s already started that she has to get right to it. Before she inches any closer to making a huge mistake. “It was the best choice.”

 

Of all the things they’ve spoken about, that rattles Raja. Her eyes travel away from Katya’s over and over like she just can’t—what?

 

“That's not true. That’s not true. I didn't know what to do, I had a job opportunity in one place and you in another and I was scared to lose either.” Katya scrunches her eyes dismissively. Raja doesn’t falter. “Staying with you wouldn’t have been a bad choice.”

 

A moss-covered boulder rips from Katya’s mind and turns over. It stings.

 

And her lungs feel too big. It’s not the usual feeling of impending tears, tightening lungs and all that. It feels like she’s shot up from underwater too fast and she’s taking her first gasp of air. There isn’t enough oxygen in the world to fill her up.

 

Raja brushes her ear with her finger and Katya exhales it all in a great sob.

 

“I thought I was no choice at all.” She hardly recognizes this voice. “Like a wall rolled down in front of me and I was screaming under it before it closed and you couldn't see me anymore.”

 

“Oh baby, no. I'm so sorry,” Raja says delicately with her lips on top of her head. “We should have talked more afterwards.”

 

“Yeah,” Katya cries. The covers between her and Raja's stomach soak up her tears and she screams into them. The dark cavern quickly becomes hot, damp, and filled with pulpy anguish she can't stand to breathe back in. She comes up for air and Raja gathers her up, presses their bodies together down to their feet. Katya turns her face to cry as much as she can bear.

 

It worries her that this isn't fair to Raja. It's not as though their breakup was the root of Every Single Thing. She's been gone for fifteen years. She's been here for twelve hours.

 

But she's here, Katya thinks. And that's good. She contacted Raja through the thinnest thread available to her and a day later here she is. She doesn't have to be, it's what she wants. Katya's breathing in air and breathing out whatever it turns into, she can't remember the word. She trusts Raja to do the rest.

 

—

 

A little before 1am Katya is folded up on a cushioned window seat at the end of the hallway outside Raja’s room.

 

Ten minutes into crying she reached a point where she couldn’t stop laughing at herself. It was the stark contrast between the alternate version of all this in which she'd jumped into Rajas arms the moment she saw her and gotten a rough fingering over the bench in Kameron’s hideous power rack; then back to reality, wailing, fully clothed under a blanket in a brightly lit hotel room with _Love Island_ on mute in the background. The fact that Raja hadn't turned it off, only muted it made her laugh harder. It was absurd.

 

About 7pm she called Trixie and told her she wasn’t feeling well and needed to cancel their phone date. Trixie was disappointed but didn’t press her about it.

 

A little after midnight she texted Katya asking her to call if she was awake. She was worried then.

 

Katya ends the call at 12:42am and checks the call time: 18 minutes. In that time she told Trixie she’d had a hard day. And about Raja. Trixie didn’t get mad. Katya told her how they got in touch, how surreal it had all been. She stopped before getting to the part where they came to the hotel, how she’s staying the night. She told Trixie she misses her and they promise each other they’ll take a trip somewhere together to make up for this awful time apart.

 

\--

 

Back in the room Raja has turned one light on and she's dozing until Katya returns. She props up on one arm when Katya closes the door.

 

“Trixie?” Katya nods yes. “All good?” She closes her eyes and stretches, nods again.

 

“She wants to come see me,” she yawns. “Well, she wants to come pick me up from this ‘shithole.’ Not here, she means the apartment.”

 

Raja's head is back on the pillow and she's checking messages on her phone. “Why not let her? You need to stop literally living in toxic nostalgia,” she says with her chin tucked down, typing an email reply. “Including your parents’ house.” She tosses the phone back on the bedside stand.

 

“Nnnnn I'm trying!” Katya whines and kneels down into the bed. Raja combs her hair with her fingers and it’s like warm heaven down her shoulders and back, curling her toes. She’s still in her cow socks. She wants Trixie’s bare back against her. Her soft, thick waist. Her knees. Raja talks as she’s trying to fall asleep with her nerves gripped to the gauzy shape of Trixie in her mind.

 

They agree that in the morning they'll work together on every last detail needed to get the furniture and boxes moved out to their destinations, then set the earliest possible date to get her keys back to the landlord.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the next chapter posting early next week!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She remembers how it was supposedly a woman pining for another woman, wanting to treat her better than someone else had. That someone could be that kind of woman and want to do all that and say it in such obvious ways shocked her as a teenager. It made her so happy, too. Of course even though her friends loved the song, too, and listened to it freely, it made Trixie anxious about being ‘caught’, in case they'd look at her and just know.
> 
> Trixie looks back to the cards. Each has lyrics written on it in neat black script

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the sunshine chapter after the previous one! I really hope you enjoy, I've been looking forward to this cheesy ass chapter for a loooooong time. Long time. 
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments!!! It's really encouraging, thank you thank you :) :) :)

It’s a relief to wake up and feel mediocre. Katya wouldn’t trust feeling like she was walking on sunshine this morning.

 

Raja’s flight is at noon so they sit for a quick breakfast in the hotel cafe. Before leaving the room Raja got on a warpath calling moving companies and got her locked in with a mover just under two weeks from now which was further out than Katya wanted but the soonest that a decent company could do it. She got them to agree to add extra people to take donations and trash out as well. Katya will have to be there on the day but she doesn’t have to live there in between. Not even another day, Raja emphasized. She wants her to go home to Trixie.

 

It's a pity, she thinks, that she was in no position last night to enjoy what a nice hotel this is. It's a massive high rise on Ludlow though they've sliced it halfway up and put in a pool and terrace dining, and to offset the neighborhood impact of a high rise. The room was on a corner with floor to ceiling windows high above all of Manhattan, not looking into any nearby buildings.

 

Katya's made a note that it would be the perfect place to stay with Trixie after the concert next week.

 

After all the time spent on the phone with moving companies they had to rush to get Raja checked out. Raja's wrapped her hair up in a black cotton bandana and she uses her blush mirror to wing her eyeliner while Katya makes herself a second coffee. The cafe is casual enough for it with guests walking up ordering coffee and Balthazar pastry to go. The chairs are big and almost comfy, a little too mod to cozy up into.

 

“I swear to God. If there were truly no repercussions?” Katya says and shakes a sugar packet. She takes white Domino sugar in her coffee now, thanks to Lady Lovely Locks back at the ranch. “Mama, I would slam you.”

 

“Oh really? I’d like to see that,” Raja says, unimpressed with her face tilted down to get the angle right on the opposite lid.

 

“No, here’s the thing, you were always such a hard top I couldn’t get my leg out to like--” Katya cuts herself off and scratches her nose. She crumples the empty packet and flicks it across the table towards Raja. “Trust me, I top. I can and I do, I’m a girl who does both.”

 

“Sure, baby,” Raja winks. Just for that Katya doesn't tell her her liner was still wet.

 

\--

 

As the Uber to JFK goes underwater through the midtown tunnel, Katya apologizes for not even getting a proper meal.

 

“I donno,” Raja muses. Her look is complete with cherry red lipstick and large round sunglasses with blood red frames. “Sexual tension and weeping are two of my favorite pastimes in any city.”

 

Katya hammers Raja’s thigh and pounds the floor of the car. “That’s true. That’s true,” she replies, cutting off her laughter.

 

“We’re back in touch for good, though. Right?” Yesterday Raja looked tired, beautiful. Now she has a face on and looks like she probably looks most days. “I don’t want to lose you again,” she says towards the window and cracks it as they come out of the tunnel. She takes Katya’s hand and holds it between both of hers, smoothing over it for the rest of the ride.

 

\--

 

The security line is absurdly long so Katya takes advantage of spending some extra minutes together.

 

“I think it makes sense to have Trixie’s number, if she's your person now.” Raja’s shoulders are nearly backwards while she stretches standing in the line with about twenty parties in front of them. “So text it to me. Are you chewing gum?” she asks with a look as if Katya all of a sudden has a tit out.

 

“You’re so high strung now, God. Yes, my mouth was foul and I found a stick of her gum in my pocket.” Katya tells Raja about Trixie and her chewing gum, how it’s kind of an oral fixation but also kind of a distraction when she’s horny, emphasizes the story by stressing ‘never’ and ‘obsessed’ and chopping her hands.

 

“And then one day,” Katya says and snaps her fingers so loud that people around them turn, “she’s flipped a switch. Smacking on her gum, flingin’ her tits around, hair down, blue balling me for weeks!”

 

Raja giggles along with her. “You’re feeling much better. It’s good.” She reaches in her bag to get her ID out. “And you are _gone_ for her, ovuh. Send us an invitation.”

 

Katya trills her lips before answering. “I don’t think she’d want something with an invitation. It would overwhelm her. She vibrates any time I do something remotely considerate.” She balances on her toes and comes back down to her heels. It breaks her heart thinking of it. “I don’t know the full story but her previous ‘partners’ were all closeted. Or something. She’s had like, zero romance. You know, before me,” she adds with a cheesy smile, sticking her leg out with her hands on her waist.

 

“Well you can give her plenty of that! Oh man, I held out a little longer when you were after me just to see what else you'd do.” Katya shoots her a dirty side eye look loaded with affection. “Which was really mean. But you were the best.”

 

“Shit.” Katya hadn’t seen it coming. The line has cleared and Raja has to hand her ID and ticket over to go through security. Katya has to stay back and Raja has to leave. A plane vibrates and whooshes into taxi mode just outside the window and she realizes Raja is waiting for her, having stepped aside to let others get through.

 

She falls into her chest and lets Raja squeeze her shoulders. Her stiff neck and upper back pop and her face crumples after the release but Katya can hold it.

 

“You were a good thing. And I got hurt,” Katya says. “It was both.”

 

They grip each other’s hands tightly, nails into palms, and say goodbye again. Raja reminds her what she needs to do. Katya turns quickly to get on her way.

 

The line for a yellow cab isn’t long when she hits the walkway outside the automatic doors of the terminal. A gust of wind makes her grip her jacket shut while she texts Ginger with one hand. She asks her if she could find someone who would leave her Wrangler at the train station tonight.

 

Ginger replies ‘just say you want me to do it and I'll say yes.’ That reminds Katya to look out for something for her today, too.

 

She asks the cab driver to head for Soho and gives him the address to Paper Source once she finds it on her phone. Since she has the store’s website open she flies through their inventory and finds gifts for Ginger, Kennedy, and Jerrod: for Ginger, a stack of business cards printed with the words ‘Stop Talking’ that come inside an embossed carry case; for Kennedy, a tea towel printed with cacti and succulents to encourage their recent discovery of the joy of keeping plants alive; and for Jerrod, a keychain attached to a tiny sound box with fart buttons.

 

The main reason she’s headed there is to get supplies to craft a signature college-era-Katya token for Trixie. She’s been storing this idea for twenty years since she never unleashed it on Raja or even told her about it. It was too much back then. Katya isn’t worried about embarrassing herself now, only about finding a paper bag big enough to keep Trixie breathing. She was in tears over the heart Katya penned onto a toilet paper roll after replacing it the ‘right’ way, following Trixie’s direction.

 

She'll ask Ginger if the stables have a tranquilizer gun on hand. 

 

\--

 

A freak October snowstorm slows down the roads but most people show up for lessons anyway, though late. By early afternoon there’s a pile up that will make it hard for Trixie to use the space she expected to have at 2pm.

 

It doesn’t matter, she thinks. She’s in such a horrible mood she wouldn't want to mess up an innocent animal’s trust with it.

 

That photo she sent to Katya was an attempt to funnel her feelings into something cleaner. She can’t find the right place between holding back everything Katya means to her and beating Katya over the head with it all. She knows she goes overboard.

 

She doesn’t actually know, Trixie reminds herself. She pulls up the version Katya sent back to her, where she'd curved her bright purple line around Trixie’s body showing where she ‘goes.’ Staking out her spot in Trixie’s space, her image. Her body. She wants to be here.

 

Her desk chair leans too far back and at some point it was adjustable but the bolt is long gone. She deserves a new chair up here. This office is the worst place to feel stressed.

 

Their couch has a stain Trixie left on it. Trixie once measured it with her fingers but she draws the line at sitting on it longingly. It's about three inches long.

 

 

The stain had been made on a night Katya hung around waiting all evening for Trixie to finish logging progress reports, declining drinks out with Willam and Courtney.

 

“You write the same things over and over, right, for the most part?” Katya asked her. “I can make a form with all of it standardized and they can pop up in your email after each session or daily or whatever.”

 

“That’s the nerdiest, hottest thing you could say to me right now.” Trixie meant it but stared eye level into her laptop, painstakingly typing out individual notes.

 

“Hottest ‘cause I want to fuck your hole and--” Katya paused when Trixie jerked her head up, “--and because I’m awfully lonely sitting over here.”

 

She spread kisses and soft bites over Trixie’s stomach with three fingers twisted inside, digging the big knuckle of her index finger into a lower, inner part of her clit near her entrance to make her come slow and hard. Katya is patient like that, sometimes to the point of blinding torture. A small stain was an alright price to pay.

 

 

It's useless being here. This quest Katya's been on the last couple days is like, the Olympics of girlfriendness and Trixie wants to shine.

 

She was--to her own surprise, even--happy to hear she had Raja there with her, though. It worries her that Katya insists on remaining isolated from her past friendships, something Trixie believes to be in small part by choice. Raja doesn’t threaten her the way Kameron does. Katya can say all she wants that Trixie doesn’t understand relationships. It’s not that simple.

 

It would be glorious to share this freak snow storm with her. She would love it and make it so much fun. She would appreciate how beautiful it looks and poorly shovel Trixie’s doorway while Trixie stands inside, mocks her lack of skill, and waits to defrost her numb little hands and feet by the fireplace.

 

The office phone at the corner of Trixie's desk rings and she could throw it down the stairs she cares so little about whatever bullshit it could be about.

 

It's Ginger. “Yeah? … There's a rubber banded pile here, I haven't gone through it yet … I don't want this shit on my desk … Fine.”

 

Trixie hangs her chin in her palm and lets the cord untwirl before replacing the receiver. She smushes her cheek against her hand and her lips slide open passively. She imagines this is what a teenager feels like, if she'd allowed herself to feel this way for anyone back then.

 

A buzz on her iPhone raises her hopes. She hasn't heard from Katya since morning.

 

 **_Ginger_ ** _: Hi! Go through the fucking mail!_

 

 _God damn you._ The rubber band snaps when Trixie pulls it off. Equipment catalogs. Property sales. Fliers for local events.

 

One odd thick envelope slips out. One that hasn't been posted. It's a vibrant red 5x5 inch square with folds that open like petals. They're held closed with a gold foil heart.

 

Trixie’s fingers tremble trying not to to tear it in half to see what's inside. She'll faint if it's from Katya and she'll smash every windshield in the parking lot if it's not. High stakes.

 

The envelope pops open when the heart sticker rips. In it lies a small stack of notecards framed around the edges with decorative washi tape accented with little three dimensional flower stickers.

 

She fans them out and sees one with unicorns and tiny rainbow hearts that makes her laugh right away, remembering the hot tub when she told Katya what tattoos she would get.

 

Another features strips of blue hydrangeas. They'd pointed out great bushes of them the each other all along the fences and roadsides through summer and the white ones took on a pink tinge before dying right around Labor Day.

 

The most excessive one is taped up with layers of gold lace foil and deep pink glitter, plus a flower sticker with rhinestones. Trixie decides it's a vote of support for her confessed appreciation of flamboyant Western shirts.

 

Her phone buzzes again. It's a YouTube link from Katya. The message tells her the video doesn't matter, just to listen to it when she opens the envelope. _Whoops_. Trixie plays it and grumbles as an ad for a food delivery service plays for 15 seconds before the song starts.

 

Then she puts the phone down so she can listen. At first it's so quiet, sounds like train tracks. But when the keyboard comes in, Trixie’s stomach flips. She clutches her hands together on the desk and leans into them, not breathing.

 

She knew it was coming. She saw the title and remembers this song from middle school. And high school, and college.

 

She remembers how it was supposedly a woman pining for another woman, wanting to treat her better than someone else had. That someone could be that kind of woman and want to do all that and say it in such obvious ways shocked her as a teenager. It made her so happy, too. Of course even though her friends loved the song, too, and listened to it freely, it made Trixie anxious about being ‘caught’, in case they'd look at her and just _know_.

 

Trixie looks back to the cards. Each has lyrics written on it in neat black script:

 

 _Give you something sweet each time you  
__Come inside my jungle book_  

 

_I'll rock you till the daylight comes  
_ _Make sure you are smiling and warm_

 

_Feelin' like a school boy, too shy and too young_

 

_You're the only shoe that fits  
_ _I can't imagine I'll grow out of it_

 

 _Give me an hour to kiss you_  

 

_We don't need no doctor to feel much better  
Let me in _

 

_I sat on the mountainside with peace of mind_  
_And I lay by the ocean making love to her with visions clear  
_ _Walked for days with no one near_

 

Trixie takes each individual card one by one and touches the border Katya chose for it, and the ink from her pen, her pretty handwriting with no heavy lines or skips in the pen marks.

 

She sobs when she realizes it doesn't mean Katya wrote each one perfectly. She wrote them out over and over until she got it right.

 

The last one is covered in bright red poppies with black centers:

 

_And I return as chained and bound to you_

 

 

She's already off her chair to fly down her office stairs when she feels the Post-It stuck to the back of that last one: ‘Come home!’

 

\--

 

The black Wrangler is parked where it should be and as Trixie pulls in she wonders how well Katya managed in the snow. Her summer tires are no good for it. Did she put it into four wheel drive?

 

Trixie didn't take time to zip up her coat and she left her shirt unbuttoned as it was in the office because the heating turns it into a convection oven. A cold wind strikes her neck and chest on the quick walk to her front door.

 

Katya isn't right there when she opens the door. She starts to take her boots off and steps one dry socked foot into the icy slush puddle they create. Her face and chest are red from the cold, her socks are wet, and her flannel shirt is on its third wear which really is like high school. She hunts head first through the first floor for Katya.

 

Her eyes light up when she thinks she must be upstairs in bed, waiting. Dolled up--fuck, she’ll die on the spot if she is--or naked, or fully clothed, whatever she doesn't give a shit.

 

Trixie spins the corner to run up the stairs but then hears the first floor toilet flush. Slightly disappointing.

 

“Katya?” she inquires with a wiry insistence.

 

“Yes! Oh my God yes, just a second I'm pulling my pants up.”

 

Katya's giggle riles her and she whimpers angrily. “Are you kidding me? Get out here, now,” she demands, leaning on the doorframe.

 

It opens and Katya stands before her in unzipped black jeans. “Want me to shit myself when you hug me? I still can. Baby, I didn't know exactly how long you would be!”

 

Trixie stares at her for a few moments and her eyes get pink before she shutters them against tears, braces her face with her hands.

 

Then she drops her arms with a shrug. “You can't do that to me. You're too much. Fuck,” she sobs. Katya is there, it's surreal. “You can't give me this thing that's so huge and makes me so … this!” Trixie complains, gesturing at her crying face. “And then be in the toilet!”

 

Katya puts her hands on Trixie’s chest and gets wrapped into a tight hug that lifts her heels off the floor. Trixie sways a few seconds before setting her down to give her a long hard kiss. She feels Katya's hands come around squeezing handfuls of her ass and their arms get in each other's way pulling at clothes on the way to the stairs.

 

\--

 

“How’s your head?” Trixie asks dreamily.

 

“S’fine. If you get a headboard, make it a padded one.” Katya’s voice is hoarse. “I’ll make you one!” she rasps pointing a weak, excited finger.

 

“Aww,” Trixie coos and rubs the top of Katya’s head with her fingertips. She’s up against pillows and sprawled across half the bed with one leg bent in and Katya cuddled under her arm. “I could try not to bang you into the wall?”

 

“Please do bang me. Just don’t make me walk around right now, something might fall out.”

 

“Ha! Your spleen?” She pulls Katya’s shoulders in and as she’s playing limp in her arms it makes her chin tip up, perfect for Trixie to drop in and kiss her. She barely moves her lips over hers, just punctuates them at the corners and the full middles. They're puffy and dry. She needs a day at home doing nothing more than rest with lip balm and tea and socks. Her feet are ice blocks. 

 

“Do you want me to bring you dinner in bed?” Trixie asks with a kind of affection she generally only uses with horses. She’s serious about the offer, though.

 

Katya looks up expectantly. “I don’t know, what could I have?”

 

“I’ll have to go out and get something. Unless you want cereal.”

 

“No, don’t go out.” Katya’s muscles come alive again. She pushes herself up, straddles the tops of Trixie’s thighs, pinning her but not sitting. Her hair tumbles down over her shoulders, casts shadows around her face where the waves curve around it.

 

“Never go out again,” she says using her lower, breathy, rumbly range that knocks out Trixie’s will to resist. Her nipples brush between Trixie’s breasts. She keeps her eyes locked with Trixie’s and reaches past her face to the bedside stand, pulls the drawer open, trails over a few smaller objects before finding something she's looking for.

 

“Is this charged?” Katya asks before picking it up.

 

Trixie nods and makes an affirmative sound with her mouth shut. Her teeth are clenched but she's smiling. She wants this. If Katya’s thinking the same thing.

 

Her favorite, most reliable toy for herself is palm-sized, shaped like a curved stone in bright pink silicone with a gold-toned plate on one side, a few discreet buttons on the other. It's pretty and smooth and it works. The key is the small cup that juts out. All the vibrations are directed through it.

 

Seeing Katya hold it makes her jump an inch and she props up on her elbows to watch her turn it over, finger the cup that will sit around Trixie’ clit.

 

She hands it to Trixie. “Wanna watch you use it.” 

 

Trixie looks at her incredulously. “Or you can do it. How lazy can you be?” It's too late as Katya's already leaned off her with an eye roll. She instructs Trixie to first sit forward, then lay back against her once she's settled herself in behind her, against her pillows. They have a giggle when Trixie recoils from Katya's lubed up pussy and inner thighs. Cleaning her up first would have been tidy, but they're not. 

 

It's a minute before Trixie can let all her weight sink back. Katya has learned there's more nuance to Trixie’s confidence in her body. Specifically, she didn't take kindly to Katya replying “don't say that” on the single occasion Trixie said “this shirt makes my arms look fat”, as though a minute of imperfect feelings about her own body was unacceptable. Being put in her place turned Katya on _hard_ and she let Trixie take full advantage over the top of her office desk.  

 

Tonight, spent from welcoming Katya home with beautiful unexpected snow on the ground, Trixie rests between her legs and lets her own spread open with no particular grace. She lays her head back against Katya's shoulder then tilts her face back to check it's all comfy for her, too.

 

“Could you move your arm off my stomach? Maybe I'm just hot but it's making me nauseated.”

 

“Sure. You _are_ hot.” Trixie snorts at the weak joke though she appreciates hearing it nonetheless. “Ready?” The way Katya asks is so sweet she feels guilty for needing to be prompted.

 

“Um. Yeah.” She has done this many times, just under entirely different circumstances. Never as an act of making love, mainly an act of assuring her sex partner she'd enjoyed being with her, too. This isn't performative at all, not by comparison. 

 

As soon as she turns on and positions the toy, her hips begin to gently pump against it. She breathes through her nose, and with her breaths Katya drags her fingers up her arms, trails them back down over her breasts. It feels so nice and soon draws a low hum from her lips. She feels the pads of Katya's fingers circle the tips of her nipples and it shoots straight to her cunt. Her moans break free then and she tosses her head to the side. 

 

Katya brings her hand up around Trixie’ chin and cups it, spreads her thumb and forefinger across her jaw holding her face steady.

 

“I got you. You can relax now.” Her voice is dark honey. Trixie’s hips stop rolling. They tremble instead with the effort to still her body, relax under the pressure of Katya’s two fingers around her jaw.

 

All she can control is keeping the vibrations on the right spot. Katya controls everything else. 

 

When Katya applies a little more pressure to her jaw, Trixie’s eyes roll back. She connects with the hot tide pouring into her core and her mind smooths.

 

“I’m so fuckin’ wet,” Katya states like it doesn’t matter, as if she has no plans to do anything about it. Trixie knows she does. She opens her mouth with a short keen that sounds like a gate being pried open.

 

“You fuck me so hard like that, ramming me up the bed.” The sticky sounds of Katya’s fingers inside herself make Trixie’s skin tingle all over. She arches her back up and nearly growls through her teeth but Katya keeps her grip firm. “You want your face in me. I bet you wish your face was in my pussy. Yeah? Licking me up, sucking me in and swallowing it all down. Or fucking me in your lap, seeing my titties bounce, making me cry for you.” Trixie wants it all, all the time, she mumbles _yeah, yeah, yes, unh yes_ as Katya runs through every way Trixie takes her apart. 

 

Katya’s voice begins to falter like she might come and it’s the only thing making Trixie last any longer.

 

“Open up for it.” Trixie’s works to open her mouth again like she can’t connect her brain to her face. But she does and gets two of Katya’s wet fingers as a reward and sucks them clean, up to the come dried around her knuckles. Trixie groans to stop herself from gagging as they go down her throat. Then she’s coming hot and fast, twisting into it farther than she could ever go on her own.

 

Katya does that for her now, though she didn't at first. It took a month or so for Trixie to open up and for Katya to figure her out a bit better. Now she can have orgasms with Katya as good as and better than those she has alone.

 

“Stay down, you can do it again.” Trixie whines but all that’s keeping her there are Katya’s fingers on her jaw. Her clit has hidden itself deep undercover.

 

“Turn it up,” Katya tells her and Trixie presses the ‘+’ button. The increase is subtle but effective.

 

“Ah God I--” she starts to say and mouths at words she can't grasp from her head. Trixie inches her back up Katya's stomach and drops her head onto Katya's shoulder.

 

Katya moves her hand from her jaw to the side of her face, securing her. She cups Trixie’s ear and strokes the fine strands of hair bent over its curve.

 

“You're so good, baby. So patient. Think how many times you wanted me here to touch you.” Her voice is soft enough this time it couldn't be heard a few feet away. It's only loud enough for Trixie's ear. Katya kisses at her temple in a way so precise and delicate Trixie feels like the edge of a diamond.

 

Meanwhile Trixie is shaking and sweating on top of her, dripping so wet she can't imagine ever washing it all away. “Look at you. Fucking beautiful. I came back early for you, baby.” _Everything took so long but she came back early._

 

Trixie feels another one revving up and throws her free arm back, raps the wall with the back of her hand and lands it beside Katya's head. She’s going to take her up on that offer to make her a headboard. Katya shifts so Trixie’s hand can drift around her neck and lets her lock her fingers into her hair. Trixie squeezes her hand, pulls at it with the twitches in her thighs and hips.

 

“Coming, I'm coming, yeah, it's there, it's there, huh huh huh” Trixie chants over and over until a second one crashes like a low wave, keeps rolling out further to reach every corner inside. Katya reaches back and crushes her hand until she starts to come down, then drags it down along her own face.

 

“God, so good. I really really like you. Oh my God.”

 

Katya laughs. “That's good, I'm glad you like me.”

 

“I do,” Trixie exhales.

 

\--

 

Two cold washcloths later Trixie gets up and puts on pajamas and a hooded sweatshirt, gets out a pair she has of Katya's, and they wobble down the stairs to make cereal for dinner and watch a _Botched_ marathon on TV.

 

En route to the little TV enclave each with a bowl in hand, Katya puts her arms around Trixie’s waist. She looks up, lays her chin on her clavicle and tells her quietly how happy she is to be back.

 

On the couch Trixie stretches one leg out and rests her foot over Katya's thigh. Her pajama pants ride up to her calves, the lengths perpetually too short for such long legs.

 

“This bitch in 5th grade,” Trixie says during a commercial break, then swallows a bite, “told me Crispix has as much sugar as Froot Loops.”

 

“What was her point?” Katya asks with a full mouth. 

 

“To be a cunt who doesn't eat cereal.” Katya laughs and covers her mouth to keep milk from dripping. “She had these long, razor sharp natural nails that made her hands look like an old woman's.”

 

“Not a love match?”

 

Trixie shrugs. “Maybe if they were acrylics.”

 

Katya wretches then laughs more. “Lucky for me!” she jokes before scooping up more cereal. Her chocolatey brown hair is pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and her pale eyes reflect the light from the TV. She has one leg folded in on the couch and the other hanging over it so her tiny red polished toes hover over the blue Colorado Rockies motif on the lodge rug beneath her. Trixie’s not telling her that as soon as Katya puts her bowl down, she's going to kneel on that rug and worship her like she drips holy water for as long as Katya will let her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics, if you don't recognize it, are from "Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover" by Sophie B Hawkins. It is a great song, it is a cheesy af song, it has "shucks" in it, it is a lesbian.
> 
> I forgot to link to the toy referenced and I totally meant to include it here: https://www.lelo.com/sona-cruise. Lelo frequently has sales ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she’s earned it Trixie likes the name at home, sometimes likes to hear it in bed, and she has told Katya that’s where it belongs. Home. That's where she's vulnerable, with Katya. It used to be where she was afraid, when she was on her own. Work was where she could be vulnerable. Now it's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the last tag, it’s new for this chapter and if it’s something you definitely don’t want to see then this isn’t your chapter! That said: 
> 
> I'm envisioning Trixie as the cowgirl daddy she’s basically been all along ... and it works for them. 
> 
> This is another multi-installment chapter broken up from one that grew too long. Next update will be next week :)

They did go to the Garbage concert in October but needed to drive back the same night. Katya felt let down because she’d wanted to make a whole mini trip of it so that’s what they’re doing now, two weeks before Christmas.

 

Trixie had asked if it was childish to want to see the city all lit up when she obviously really wanted to. She hadn't seen it in person since she was a little girl and her parents brought her and her sister in for the day. Trixie becomes more vulnerable in the cold weather, Katya is figuring out. It's wonderful.

 

Katya didn’t expect anything special the first night. She slept in the car from Manorville until the Holland Tunnel. Trixie drove two and a half hours without stopping, one hand loose on the bottom of the wheel and the other tracing Katya’s wrist.

 

But when they go to bed, Trixie undresses loudly, artlessly, then pulls a sheer pale pink chiffon romper up over her knees, hips and breasts and ties it behind her neck. She abruptly sits over Katya’s hips--knocking the air out of her stomach in the process--and mutters that the proportions are off, tugging at the elastic waist and making it float around her breasts. The tease is transparent but effective. She also casually mentions it doesn't matter as it was a cheap purchase and probably won't survive being washed. _Interesting_.

 

Katya quiets her by pulling the ribbon at her neck so the thing dissolves like fog, smiles up through her cheap drugstore glasses that reflect the lamps beside the hotel bed. The marks left by Trixie’s abusive bra worn for too many hours that day look like they’d seep blood if she pressed them too hard. She is certain some of Trixie’s bras that fit in the summer are too snug now.

 

She coaxes Trixie down on her side, stretching her legs out and giggling at her satisfied complaint over the pop in her hip from finally relaxing after the long drive, after the cold day working outside on her feet, after many days of the same. They turn the lamps off since the lights out in the city make the room at least a dark slate blue, enough to work with. Katya wets a washcloth in the bathroom, pats it against the matching pair of horizontal welts under the side of Trixie’s breast, pink and sore like a fresh branding. Nothing pleases Katya more these days than being gentle to her in the lengthening darkness, telling her she works too hard before Trixie does anything for her at all. Playing the part of selfless lover gets her wet and makes her feel convincingly selfless, in those moments.

 

As the marks cool under the damp cloth, they talk about driving to Trixie’s parents’ home for Christmas Day in two weeks. Katya slips her lower leg between Trixie’s and scrunches the blanket with her toes. There won’t be a big proclamation, just a statement that Katya is coming, then they’ll be there, then they’ll go home. Katya asks and Trixie says she knows her parents will be polite and keep any discomfort private. She and Katya don’t have to pretend to be just friends, but Trixie also finds it hard to envision being affectionate in front of them. Not impossible, Trixie noted, but hard. Katya is quick to cheerfully promise she won’t goose her in front of her family.

 

“Why do you look so sad?” Katya asks when Trixie says nothing back. Trixie continues to stare, shrugs with a flat expression.

 

“Just thinking about the finale of _Friday Night Lights_ again. Somewhere in an alternate universe Tami’s a dyke, and all this time she’s been living her best divorced life. In my dungeon.” Katya pushes her onto her back and Trixie discards the cloth onto the carpeted floor.

 

“I feel shitty taking you somewhere we have to be different,” Trixie continues, talking to the ceiling. “We’ve come so far. I’m aware this isn’t perfect.” Trixie is talking to her now so Katya meets her eyes.

 

“You’re right. And I refuse to feel bad about it.” Katya lays back and waves her in, gesturing for her to lay her head on her stomach. It will make Trixie sleepy but the mood feels more cuddly anyway and she’s clearly exhausted. “You’re taking me to meet your family, as I am. I refuse to see a downside.”

 

They decide they’ll exchange presents at night and have a late dinner. Katya will take care of all of that.

 

“What’s our anniversary? I mean when do we count from?” Trixie asks and the vibrations from her jaw buzz through her cheek into Katya’s small, soft stomach. Trixie still has the chiffon romper bunched down around her middle and Katya tickles a lacy pattern around her bare shoulders.

 

Katya’s phone plays music on the room’s Bluetooth speaker.

 

“Hmm. It’s not only up to me, what do you think?” Trixie won’t say, and Katya intuits that she should exert her relationship experience privilege carefully. “I think the pig is like, the most distinctive one.”

 

“The one I found on your back or the one you drew on my cubby?” Trixie asks like both are completely normal options. To them, they are.

 

“I was thinking of the one I drew!”

 

Trixie leans up on one arm, leaving the one Katya had around her empty midair. “So our first official date counts. Not the hot tub.” Her hair curves behind her in sculpted marble-like waves, held up by a couple extra days of not washing it. Her arms and waist look more malleable by comparison, and Katya's mind drifts briefly to a classic poem about a creepy misogynist who carved his ideal woman from stone and begged for her to be real. 

 

“If you want it to be the hot tub, I will agree to that,” Katya laughs. “I had high, _high_ hopes of destroying that tub with you. You did wear a one piece with fuck holes cut out from the middle. The chaos. So desperate.”

 

“Ha!” Trixie drops her head laughing. “Bitch, you did a striptease.”

 

“I sure did. Were you planning to make a move than night? God it seems stupid but at the time--” Katya stops there because she’s reliving the sick feeling of rejection and unrealness, the fear that she’d read everything wrong. For a moment she loses grip on the fact that nearly six months has passed, that Trixie is next to her now, in love with her. Protecting her.

 

 _At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet_  
_And a freight train running through the middle of my head_  
_Only you can cool my desire  
_ _Oh oh oh, I'm on fire_

 

“I wanted to,” Trixie picks up for her, inching closer. “I don’t think I saw how gentle you are before that happened. I was braver after. Even though it was because I hurt you.” She tucks a lock of hair behind Katya’s ear and kisses her shoulder. “Do you need to tell me how I hurt you?”

 

Katya gets teary, then embarrassed about being petty. But Trixie scoots up and puts an arm around her shoulder and Katya explains what went on for her that night in a way she hasn't before. She tells Trixie how she ran out the door of Tammie’s house feeling scared and more alone than she had in months, like she might never stop running. Trixie shakes her head and rests it on top of Katya’s, wipes more tears from her red cheek without looking even though Katya doesn’t make a whimper or sob.

 

When she’s all done telling Trixie how awful it was, Katya pushes her underwear down just far enough for her to slip her head under and bury her face deeply apologetically, promise she can make it all better.

 

The romper wedges up Trixie’s ass as she rolls her body into the work of salving that memory. Her dimpled skin glows and ripples, so sensual and vulnerable. Katya reaches not for her skin but for the material, yanks it tighter until Trixie yelps. Trixie pulls her face back and looks up with eyes that beg for sympathy. All the while, she licks with a lolling, wicked tongue and digs her grip deeper into Katya’s ass. Katya burns her with the soaked, twisted rope of cheap lingerie.

 

“You’re easy to distract, aren’t you?” Katya says down her nose at her, a bit of sweat in her hairline the only betrayal of how good Trixie’s tongue is to her body. Katya sets her jaw then pulls hard at the seam behind Trixie’s back.

 

Even though she did it herself, her eyes and mouth go wide in silent shock at the sharp rip of stitches, like the sound of a small animal being torn apart between a tooth and a claw.

 

Trixie gasps and laughs with a hyper shriek. It sets Katya's hair on end. Backing away thigh by squashed thigh, Trixie sits back on her heels when she reaches the end of the bed. The belly of her chin is shadowed and foreboding with the tremor of a half smile. Trixie towers and breathes fast and deep with the shredded, sodden remains of the cheap garment hanging from her hips.

 

The rest is a blur of limbs. Katya squeals as she's roughly dragged down by her calves. The friction between the sheets and her T-shirt makes her tits pop out of the bottom. She pulls the hem down to cover them and expects Trixie to complain, realizes how utterly focused Trixie is when she doesn't even notice. It makes her uneasy and she couldn’t envision anything hotter right now.

 

Exhilarated, Katya scrambles to shove her underwear over her ankles and shouts at Trixie to ‘Go go go go.’ The only effort Katya makes from there is to mentally turn her lower half to dead weight. Trixie lifts her heavy thighs up and over her own, tilting her hips.

 

With not a beat spared, Trixie pushes her fingers down to the hilt.

 

The pull and thud of being fucked so cold is something Katya has come to crave, when the occasion is right. This is very right. She grips down on Trixie's fingers hard making a little sound in her throat from the effort, feeling her knuckles butt against her entrance and wondering if her fragile skin will tear.

 

 _In the wee, wee hours your mind gets hazy  
_ _Radio relay towers gonna lead me to my baby_

 

“Made you feel so bad that time. Huh? Told you how sorry I was. Now I want you to show how good I make you feel, taking me in this hard.”

 

“Oh God,” Katya murmurs and lays her hands loosely around her head. That voice of hers carries down so smoothly and calmly, with total control. It’s honeyed and warm. The distinct tickle of liquid leaking around Trixie’s thick, fast fingers crawls down her ass and spatters onto the sheets underneath. 

 

She fucks into her a bit slower, pressing her fingers further up, chanting ‘So good, yeah, always so good for-- … _me_ … so good’ over and over.

 

Katya is caught up in moaning short calls and spreading her legs out wider with her hands. But Trixie is patient. And she's focused. She slows down for Katya to listen.

 

 _Hey, somebody out there, listen to my last prayer  
_ _Hi ho silver-o, deliver me from nowhere_

 

“I got you. Won't lose you again. Don’t worry, baby.” It's what her head needs to hear right now. It would be normal to hug her and kiss her, too, because it's sweet and perfect and exactly what her heart needs as well.

 

But they're fucking like animals at the moment and she's not about to let that fall victim to heart eyes.

 

Katya fists the sheets on either side of her head and arches her back, pressing Trixie’s fingers harder inside again and rocking them back and forth. Her thigh burns at the spots where Trixie’s fingers hold her hip down.

 

“There she is, oh she likes that a lot! Oh that face! Yes make that gorgeous face for me again. Yeah. You feel so good, don’t you? Yeah. Yeah.” Their words overlap each other and Trixie’s tone drifts from a commanding drone to hot and sympathetic, a shift that often moves Katya from moans to sobs. She’s at the bleeding edge of what turns Katya on. Trixie knows exactly what she’s doing.

 

The visual is brutal, even for her tastes, but she wishes she could record the audio for later. The thought of putting herself back in this space when she’s reversing out of a gas station seems like a brilliant alternative to finding a new podcast.

 

“Is that good? Yeah. That's all you have to say, baby. I know.” Katya's lips are salty from sweat and tears. “You make me so proud. So proud! So proud of you, look at you.” Trixie’s shoulders are broad and rounded and her soft, drippy tits vibrate as she pounds her arm. She tosses her head and her hair almost clears one shoulder but a lock of it sticks in her mouth.

 

Katya presses her tongue to the back of her teeth, holding onto the name she isn't supposed to call Trixie outside the house. The name that’s only meant for Trixie when they’re at home. So intimate it should only be for them, in the warmth of the place they share now, privately.

 

The thin and shiny purple-veined underside pulses against her sharp white ridges and spit pools in the corners of her mouth. She releases the sheets and her bone-white fingers are too stiff to spread out. Her tits bounce halfway from her top again and she squeezes them until her nipples nearly touch, lifts them up off her chest like they're detached.

 

Her lips curl around her teeth and she tucks her chin down to watch her tits squished together, her pussy getting fucked, Trixie’s palm slapping over and over and over. Her breath is getting banged out of her so she fills her cheeks and blows out slowly through closed lips, groaning from her gut before taking another breath through her nose.

 

Loud enough to fill the room, loud enough to be heard throughout the hotel floor, she takes it all in and grits out “Come on, Daddy. Harder.”

 

She doesn't need it even if Trixie could give it. Just the nastiness pushes Katya over the edge and she gushes and keens in relief. Fluid streams to her lower back before dripping off from being tipped up on Trixie’s lap. Her eyes are too unfocused to see but Trixie's thrilled expression is audible in her praise and assurances. 

 

“Good. Good. That's alright. You're alright. That's what I wanted to be tonight. It's what I wanted you to have.” Katya agrees with her compulsively, voice shaky. “Yeah, exactly, yeah. I wanted to hear it.”

 

Whether it’s the release or how Trixie sped up in a wet frenzy at the very end, Katya’s body and thoughts pulse wide open. For ten seconds or so, everything is smooth. The room has a distinct and not unpleasant aroma of earthy flesh. Trixie’s arm must be hot as a piston but she keeps pumping slowly, helping her contract to the very end of her orgasm.

 

\--

 

The soiled rag that remains of Trixie’s lingerie goes straight into the bin in the bathroom. With her head still flat on the pillow, Katya looks down from the bottom of her vision as Trixie brings back water, a body wipe and fluffy warm towel from the heated rack, and picks out a clean top and bottom from Katya's bag.

 

Trixie's persistence in babying her took a little getting used to. But Katya has become accustomed to the intimate modesty she offers after splitting her open. Now she expects it and doesn't feel spoiled at all by it. 

 

While Katya sips cool tap water--a city delicacy, she’s come to realize since leaving--Trixie patiently kneels in front of her on the bed, peels off the damp T-shirt one arm at a time, gives her the towel to cover herself, then leans around to wipe her back. Katya's lips are swollen and parched like they’ve been scorched by a hot drink, just from rubbing against Trixie's mouth in the afterglow with no concern for how sore they were becoming.

 

The dry warmth of the towel is protective and heavenly and Katya notes a heated towel rack would be an excellent Christmas gift, even if it’s for both of them. She shudders and arches away as Trixie wipes higher up to her shoulders, teases that her jiz didn't go that far and makes Trixie’s cheeks explode. She hands it to Katya to use on her legs. She takes care not to touch Katya all over when she's vulnerable like this. Her practice gives Katya room to think what's so different about it; whether she's never been this vulnerable before or if no one has ever treated her so gently or somewhere in between.

 

Katya takes her time. When she's ready, Trixie is poised with a clean shirt stretched open for her to stick her arms through. Trixie smooths the soft cotton down and pulls her hair free from the back, brushes down her arms and rests her hands on Katya’s knees looking at Katya's face the whole time like she's the only person on Earth who matters. It's an intoxicating look, especially from someone who can be such a tyrannical cunt, in public. Occasionally in private.

 

Once Trixie is finished, the best thing is for Katya to walk away well cared for, signaling her job is done. The process of creating safety and comfort for Katya while needing nothing in return fulfills her completely. Trixie didn't know it about herself until recently. They had to figure it out together, that she feels best afterwards when she gives herself over completely to Katya's care. Katya tells her when she's good, and they can resume their regular programming.

 

The pajama bottoms have drooped in Trixie’s hands so they’re limp on her thigh. Katya takes them from her into the bathroom to pee and finish dressing. She's good now.

 

She bounces the balls of her feet on the heated bathroom floor. It's not terribly complicated or expensive to install radiant heat flooring, Katya learned from Willam. Maybe next year. She's not ready to suggest significant home improvements, let alone put herself on the hook for them.

 

Back in the room Trixie has stripped the flat sheet. She stays nude, bra marks faded away. Katya lays on her side facing her, holds her and resumes stroking her shoulders like before until they fall asleep minutes later.

 

\--

 

The next morning they go to Rockefeller Center which Katya says Trixie will owe her for. Last night was a freebie, doesn't count against this. Getting within two blocks of Rockefeller requires the lion's share of the day’s physical and mental health supply. Trixie offers to put her up on her shoulders like the other short people in the crowds.

 

But Trixie’s face, when she sees the overwhelming expanse of this year's Norway spruce up close, is energizing. She decides Trixie doesn't owe her anything, not that she ever really did.

 

“I miss Colorado,” Trixie says petting a plush, dark green branch twice as long as she is tall. “Everywhere you look there's something much bigger in the world than you. It's easy to feel lost.” Her voice is peaceful, not maudlin.  

 

“Do you dream about it?” Katya asks her. She still dreams about Boston sometimes, figures it would make sense.

 

“Yeah, I think I’ve mentioned it before.” Katya looks up with an open face, trying to hide the bit of guilt that she may have forgotten something Trixie has told her already. “I dream that I’m driving there but there’s no wheel or brakes.”

 

“Oh, right. I think that’s a common dream with a sort of textbook meaning behind it.” Trixie looks unimpressed. It wasn’t the best thing to say. She can’t always have the best thing to say.

 

She leans her chin on Trixie’s pea coat, nudges into her bicep and looks at the dry winter skin and barely visible white fuzz on her jawline. An icy gust ruffles the powder blue fur of Trixie’s earmuffs and Katya reaches up to smooth them down with her leather gloved hands. Trixie lets her and when her hands drop she smiles down and wiggles her eyebrows. Katya leans up on the toe of one boot and offers her red painted lips for a kiss, half sure Trixie will shyly bump her off.

 

Trixie kisses her. She puts her chilly hand around Katya's elated face and presses their lips together in broad daylight. Tightly packed layers of hundreds of tourists taking pictures and selfies move slowly all around them, enormous projected snowflakes twirl along the buildings right behind them, and Katya puts her warm covered hand over Trixie’s cold bare one and rubs her numb fingers.

 

She takes Trixie to the strip of shops in front of the tree to stop into Teuscher Chocolatier. It's a fairyland of Swiss chocolates moulded and wrapped in colorful printed foil and whimsical boxes to look like animals, flora, and fauna as well as local homages like yellow cabs and landmark buildings. It's an easy place to find gifts and she asks Trixie to pick things out for them to share later, too.

 

“God, imagine what they have at Easter,” Trixie says while she examines the camels in a dark chocolate creche.

 

“We’ll come back to see.” Katya looks at Trixie a few seconds later and darts from her eyes to her nose to her lips and chin searching for a flutter of tears. But Trixie’s grown to trust that Katya is in it with her, and that she’s allowed to expect things.

 

They find yellow taxi cabs for Jerrod, something more refined for Ginger and Kennedy, and Trixie doubles the time they spend in the shop picking the perfect paper ‘Floral Fantasy’ box and filling it for Jinkx. Their romantic friendship is strong as ever and Katya continues to have no edge on it. Trixie’s texts don’t show previews but Jinkx’s name is always there among them.

 

\--

 

Later, after they rouse from a nap at the hotel, Trixie has to return a missed call and it makes Katya grouchy. When they'd climbed into bed she’d wanted to lick Trixie’s warm tits after they were released from her bra and sweater but Trixie wanted to sleep. Now a work call cutting into their idyllic time together makes Katya want to slam something into something.

 

It's not about Trixie. She’s pissed at herself for not getting her act together, work wise, and the fact that come January she’ll have to access the trust fund, and that her parents will eventually know she’s failed to leave it untouched. These things don’t flatten her anymore but they still sting. They’re more like the spitters from _Jurassic Park_ with the neck flaps, the shrieking, and the poison. Toothy, intrusive little fuckers.

 

She’s thinking about them while folded up in a cozy wool upholstered chair near the windows, and apparently her face looks overly stern because Trixie comes to her shoulder with a soft hand and tells her to go pout in the orgy sized walk-in shower. Katya grabs her conditioner—which she thoughtfully brought for both of them to use, in case the hotel hadn't provided any—and slingshots her worn underwear at Trixie’s chest, sticky side out, before crop-dusting her way to the bathroom door.

 

The tiles are small and pearly, iridescent with gleaming white grout like bleached teeth. Katya rubs them to see if the sheen wears off. Their shower at home is big enough for both of them and they can fool around in it but this one is so large they could practically lay down together with room to move. In theory, at least. Shower tiles are still rock, not that appealing.

 

When they arrived the previous night, Trixie had stepped into this shower fully clothed with her dirty boots still on. Katya's heart pounded seeing her hair tied up in a mad, wilted bun and her work clothes, standing in the middle of a huge luxury shower the size of a walk-in closet. She knew housekeeping would have to scrub clods of dry gritty mud the next morning and wonder who was staying here. And then finding the discarded lingerie in the trash. Who are they?

 

Katya soaks her hair under the shower and thinks of their conversation last night and the sex afterwards.

 

She casually tested out the name first by tacking it on after thanking Trixie for replacing her old toothbrush. Trixie didn’t respond then, but Katya knew she’d heard her. She’d wanted to jump on her back and ask if she liked it. Then again if she didn’t like it, she would have said ‘no’ unequivocally, like when she said no to Keds. So Katya took her silence as a maybe. 

 

The next opportunity came up while they brought in groceries. Katya grabbed the light bags with bread and cilantro, tortilla chips, a bag of plastic straws in pinks and yellows that Trixie wanted even though winter approaching makes them something quick and disposable that will instead sit in the house for months. They could stay at the store all that time, still be there next season, Katya had said. Trixie is not always the rational one; and she is not always in the mood to be Trixie's playmate.

 

When Trixie came into the kitchen carrying the heavy bags, Katya was long over the straws disagreement and said it very softly—‘Thank you, Daddy’—and added a kiss on her cheek, making sure to leave sticky red gloss on Trixie’s clean skin. She turned to the fridge to put all the fresh food away, everything she would be cooking herself for them, waiting for Trixie to react behind her. The fridge alarm started to beep before Trixie finally grabbed her, though by then Katya was wound so tight she dropped a carton of eggs on her bare foot, wrapped her legs around Trixie’s ribs with yolk dripping off her toes. 

 

It really, truly began with that phone call, though. Back at the start, in the summer. Not the name, Katya came up with that herself. The way Trixie made her feel with her stomach pressed over her knees, believing she could deliver what she promised that night. Then she did, in time. She does. 

 

When she’s earned it Trixie likes the name at home, sometimes likes to hear it in bed, and she has told Katya that’s where it belongs. Home. That's where she's vulnerable, with Katya. It used to be where she was afraid, when she was on her own. Work was where she could be vulnerable. Now it's home.

 

But she doesn’t mind being teased with it in public. Even if she pretends she does.

 

The Keds, though, are a different story. Of all the things, she said no to the Keds.

 

Back in November, Courtney gave herself bangs and Katya asked her to do some for her, on a whim. Trixie was ambivalent until she got a Betty and Veronica fantasy in her head. Then she was happy to brush and slick back both of their ponytails tight and smooth as glass to play it out.

 

Scrubbing her scalp now, Katya recalls sitting still at the edge of the bed for Trixie, passing back bobby pins … getting lazy so Trixie would nudge the side of her neck with the edge of the brush … the bristle strokes against her scalp section by section, making her shoulder blades ripple.

 

But Trixie had drawn the line at getting knock-off white Keds for the occasion. She wasn’t impressed by the notion of rubber soles pressed against bare legs. Which is fine, ‘no’ is valuable, it’s important, she just thought Trixie would be all for a good costume, whatever.

 

With her hands in her heavy, wet hair it’s easy for Katya to recreate the pull of her ponytail from behind, hard enough to stretch her throat. But only her mind holds Trixie’s weight crushing her closed legs, grinding over the backs of her thighs, her flat hand wedged like a paddle between her cheeks.

 

All that, but _no_ to _Keds_. Trixie said they're too old to play cheerleaders. Yes, absolutely, and that's what locked doors and curtains and private browser windows are for. It is not a lack of respect for ‘no’ that drives Katya’s interest in the Keds, it is the complexity of how Trixie sees herself.

 

A rush of cool air sucks the steam from the top of the glass to signal that Trixie has opened the bathroom door. Katya turns to face her, perfumed soap bubbling down her back. It's heavier scented than she'd normally use. She relaxes seeing Trixie’s pale yellow silhouette through the frosted glass and turns back to the tiles to wait patiently. More than a few seconds pass and Katya's breath gets shorter and faster until the silicone seal on the glass door breaks.

 

“Are you busy?” Katya turns again, partly in response to the loud echo. With a few wet taps, Trixie steps closer until her breasts brush Katya’s shoulder blades and then her jaw is by her ear, spraying droplets of water against her cheek.

 

“Mmm,” Trixie hums as she nuzzles into her ear and drops her forehead onto her shoulder. “Can I treat you?”

 

“Sorry I was cranky.” Trixie shushes and shakes her head still leaned on her shoulder then picks up her damp pink face, wipes shampoo back from Katya's hairline. “But yes, please?” Katya affirms, twisting her neck around with her hands balled under her chin. Water drips again down her forehead and off her nose. Trixie bends in for a slow kiss they haven’t had since before their nap. Or maybe the morning, Katya can’t remember. Her brow furrows and she kisses her more intently thinking that’s not right, going that long without a decent kiss. She’s instantly grateful to feel so deserving.

 

To start, Trixie rinses the shampoo from her hair with the handheld showerhead. Washing her hair is an easy job, relatively speaking. Trixie’s hair on the other hand is like a CrossFit challenge and she’s glad she showered this morning so she can’t possibly be on the hook for it. After Trixie fucked up her shoulder and couldn't raise it for nearly two weeks, Katya helped her wash it a few times. Wasn't even something cool on the job she did, this useless homo busted her shoulder pulling down a heavy box from a high closet shelf.

 

She squeezes conditioner into her ends and winds Katya's hair up in a knot so she can rub her neck and shoulders. The water helps her hands glide easily over her warm skin. Katya’s a bit lost in the melt of her muscles by the time Trixie trails down the sides of her breasts. The change brings a smile to her face instantly. Trixie whispers ‘Nice tits’ and fills her hands with them. Trixie’s knee hits the back of Katya's thigh and her legs buckle for a second with a huffed little groan.

 

“You're so sexy,” Trixie says as she settles her hands over Katya's middle, pulls her close until she’s sealed against her, filling in the arc of her spine with her stomach. “I can't believe this is real.” Katya can't believe, either. Sometimes she wishes Trixie would stop making her so happy so she could feel normal, in balance again. Her stomach gurgles and Trixie laughs and kisses her soaked hair. _Fucking stop_.

 

She would say Trixie doesn't care how she looks but it's not true. She notices when she changes her earrings or wears a new top; tells her she’s hot when she’s done getting ready; asks when she looks tired or vigilant; leaves her alone to exist unwatched first thing in the morning when she looks shriveled with stringy hair welded in opposing directions.

 

“What was your call about?” Katya feels relaxed enough now she can hear about whatever drama or transaction unfolded back at the actual, literal ranch.

 

“It was Jinkx.”

 

This is not surprising but it is a little concerning because she talks with Jinkx privately so regularly. There's a hushed overtone and Trixie never talks about their conversations. She used to tell her lots about Jinkx. She stopped right around the end of summer.

 

“What is she up to?” She can't stand playing this game. “Feels like I don't hear about her anymore. She's important to you.”

 

Trixie pulls back and grabs the little bottle of shower gel and lathers up with a washcloth. It's not subtle.

 

“ _That’s_ awkward!” Katya laughs over her shoulder. She rinses her hair so they can switch.

 

Trixie huffs and tries to reach all the way back. She's still a little tight from her closet injury. Katya takes the cloth from her and scrubs right between her shoulders, watches them drop in relief.

 

“You’re reading from the script my mom did when I stopped talking about my crush in riding group. After she got a boyfriend and I didn't want to talk about her anymore.” Her head tips back when Katya’s fingers sink into her shoulder blade. “Or I did but, you know, I couldn't talk in code anymore and I wanted to cry.”

 

“Is that what's going on? Is Jinkx dating someone?”

 

“No! No. She’s going through something alone and it's complex, more complex than I thought it could be.” Trixie scratches her lip, then reaches for the washcloth. Her poor skin is now scrubbed bright pink and splotchy. Katya kisses it and lays her cheek against her spine, holds her close. Her body is so safe and secure.

 

“She's trying to get pregnant.” Trixie's hand muffles her voice.

 

The news is nice, Katya thinks. “Is that a problem?”

 

Trixie whips around. “No! Why would it be, I think it's great! It's you, I don't want it to bring up stuff for you. I found out about her, then all about you, the awful shit you and ... fucking Kameron went through.” The towel she grabs from the wrack barely ties under her arms and she scoffs and tosses her hands at how completely Katya's towel encases her. 

 

As they step into the room she discards it, grabs one of the hotel robes and curls up in bed inside it. She's nested, and it's not as easy for her to feel cozy and small. Katya approaches cautiously like she might strike out at her. But she sits at the edge of Trixie's side of the bed and strokes her face.

 

“She doesn't know about that, I want to tell her but I don't want to scare her,” Trixie continues while she absentmindedly brushes Katya's towel. “I didn't tell you about her because I didn't want it upsetting you.”

 

“Because as soon as I get upset I'm gonna pack up my toys and leave the sandbox?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Water drips from the ends of her hair onto Trixie's robe. “Are you tired of me being difficult?”

 

“You're not difficult,” Trixie says, looking at her hair and reaching out to squeeze the ends dry. She rubs the water on her palm and cups it over her nose to smell the familiar perfume of their conditioner. “You're easy to please.”

 

“I am a good cactus.” Trixie tucks her into the bend between her stomach and thighs. “What I meant is you are pretty good at dealing with me. If I get upset, you have the strength to handle it, I think. At least give me the chance?”

 

Trixie's cheeks pop. “I hadn't thought about it like that.”

 

“I pay top dollar for these pearls. And they also come in pill form,” Katya teases with a wide, cheesy grin. Then she relaxes her face and shuffles to sit up straight, talk seriously. “So what can we do to help her out, what's going on?”

 

“Really? You want to help? She would love that so much, it's all so confusing,” Trixie blurts out, throwing her hands back and forth, “she has to travel to different places, have things delivered, everything is time sensitive, I can't keep up with it!”

 

“I know, I know.” She smiles at Trixie with her eyebrows raised to reiterate how much she knows. The sun is setting outside. She takes Trixie's hand in her own, stroking it with her thumb, waiting for her to realize and pull back. Trixie doesn't.

 

“Maybe giving her some support will make it feel less like a sinkhole in my brain.” She starts to think how different it will be to give advice to someone at a distance, without the same investment in how it goes. Not terrified at the outcome. And to go home to peace. And to intimacy detached from the heartache and artificial hormones.

 

Then she thinks of Jinkx alone through it all. Alone on the phone calls. Alone at the appointments, the discussions, the exams, the glowing laptop clogged with too much information and too many morons. Alone at work when it slams her in the middle of a word coming out of her mouth. Alone politely, smelling a fire everywhere.

 

Or she might get lucky like lots of people do and have a fairly easy run at it. This time next year she’d have a newborn. That's compelling.

 

“Is she free for us to come over tomorrow night?” Something stirs in her that never did before when she wanted it to. Something maternal. But not for a baby.

 

Trixie's face, again, is energizing. So happy. She sends out a text and puts her phone away.

 

“Alright. More important business.” _Yes, about that treat you promised in the shower …_ “What will you wear tonight?”

 

That isn't what Katya was thinking about. It would be super shitty to bail on this “Hot in the City” long-legged lovely fantasy they've cooked up, the main event of the weekend, but the siren song of early middle aged lesbian laziness is calling.

 

It is a big deal though and it was her idea to take Trixie out. “A blazer with black and red sequins. Maybe something under it, if you’re lucky,” Katya winks. “And monstrous heels. You haven’t seen me in real heels, maybe you’ll just want to keep me here when you do.”

 

“No way, I’m looking forward to this.” Trixie unfurls from her nest, leaves it behind on the bed allowing Katya to watch her walk naked into the sunset on the other side of the glass.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next installment coming next week.
> 
> The songs playing in the first scene are “I’m on Fire” and “State Trooper”. I was in a mood, I suppose. I don’t care about Springsteen as a person, I don’t care about NJ, I don’t dislike either but yeah it’s not deep it’s the vibe :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For her, Katya is beautiful, and she's never asked anyone to agree with her. What she said seems very true; that they were made to see and be loved by each other. Not as individuals, as the kind of women they are. The outside world doesn't fall on their knees wherever they go or even take notice. Their beauty is not objective, it's not for everyone to enjoy, but it's real. It's for them to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took forever but it's a really long one so maybe it's worth while :) 
> 
> Please feel free to talk to me on tumblr at mattepinkallshades! I'm very open to questions/thoughts about characters and content, even if you think it might offend me just give it a go and if I end up in tears I promise I won't post a video of me weeping.

Trixie is a stud.

 

It took lots of hemming and hawing but Trixie put on a creamy peach satin western blouse with large red roses embroidered on the chest, a longhorn skull stuffed with roses sprawled across the back yoke, red satin piping and snap buttons. On each collar tip, a red ‘T’ is embroidered to look loopy, rope-like. She's spun her hair into broad feathered curls, back combed and sprayed high and lofty. Heavy false lashes draw her eyelids down to a permanent, seductive half-mast. Katya straddles her in the hotel room’s office chair to even out her wings and mutters ‘stupid fuck’ when Trixie tries to buck her off.

 

“Call me that later when you're six inches deep, honey,” Trixie teases.

 

“That’s not what you like,” Katya deadpans with a scoff. Trixie’s stomach jumps at the rumble in her voice. Her shirt buttons rub Katya’s skin through the thin mesh of her top. Katya wants to feel them pop in her fingers and she’s trying not to do it. She jumps her hips wildly, her pencil thin heels lifting from the floor, holds her arms out to the sides like she's on her back with the felt liner applicator dangling in one hand, the tube of inky liquid in the other. “‘Hunnmmhh say you love me, say you love my pretty pussy too, waaah,’” she mocks.

 

“You do!”

 

“I do,” Katya affirms coolly with a steady hand on Trixie's cheekbone, sharpening the line she's drawn.

 

“Did you pack everything?”

 

“I did.”

 

“The _right_ thing?” Trixie presses, sliding her voice.

 

Katya tuts and tilts her head. “Yes, the right _thing_ , my love. Believe it or not I've been endowed with this responsibility many times before us.” Katya widens her eyes around ‘endowed’ and chuckles softly. But Trixie's brows scrunch and pull in the delicate skin underneath them. Katya pulls her hand back like she would from a snake to preserve her clean drawing.

 

“I'm aware,” Trixie says sharp and fast, her lips barely seeming to move.

 

“I only meant that you don't have to check, I know what I'm doing.”

 

“I'm aware,” she repeats more slowly.  

 

Something heavy grips Katya between her legs, partially the phantom weight of the strap she’ll wear later, partially the need to fill Trixie up the way she’s earned permission to. The rest is wanting to fuck them away from of a needless argument.

 

“This is done,” Katya says, referring to the sharp black tip at Trixie's outer eye. She gets off and they stand before the mirror side by side. Trixie's scale makes it seem like she'd have to be the tallest in any room; the weight of her makeup, aerosol-hardened hair, thick embroidery, buttoned cuffs, and massive belt convey the message that anyone who dares to surpass her will be knocked over for it.

 

Standing next to her, Katya instinctively shrinks.

 

In the mirror she sees Trixie's hand move to take hers and the gesture reaches her before the touch. She turns into her and Trixie follows so they're nearly face to face, closer than usual anyway with Katya in 4 inch heels.

 

Trixie hangs her head. “My worst fear is that I've made myself unlovable. And unloving. By staying away from it for so long, and cutting myself up into pieces.” Katya looks for a tear that might melt her makeup. “And you'll say you wish it could be different because I’m great, but I did things wrong and I’m not the right kind of woman.”

 

She just said all that, dipped down for the deepest, darkest, coldest water at the bottom. And she didn't take Katya's hand and sweetly ask her to change or delicately tell her what she did wrong; she took it and plunged it inside herself down to the smooth clicking rocks slick with algae, where there isn’t any light and only she can see. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to Katya but she doesn’t want to ask for clarity now. Trixie looks like she just outran a predator.

 

Katya folds her hand between her own. “Well it's not my worst fear but I'm scared I'm not good enough to be in a relationship. Like not _good_ enough, like I'm a bad person.” It's true, but doesn’t feel this so viscerally any more. It’s something else now. She rubs her hands over Trixie’s like she’s warming them but she isn’t because she can’t. She’s cold, too. The heating vents in the room kick in and start to blow.

 

“You have a fear worse than that?”

 

“Yeah but clearly I don’t want to tell you, I’m being very discreet.” Trixie pulls her in and it’s a few awkward moments until Katya finds where she lines up because those extra inches make them fit together differently. When she finds the spot she breathes and blinks slowly, dreamily, not focusing on the image in the mirror. “That you're way better than me and I've like, rebooted you. You'll realize I'm just a speck on a rose and you’ll keep looking until you find something better.”

 

“A speck?”

 

“Like a brown spot, a bruise.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You know what I mean.” Katya pulls her shoulders back to look up.

 

“I do. I’ll overlook comparing me to a robot.” Trixie twists the curls over Katya's lapels and blends in the stray hairs caught in some of the sequins. “And I’ll stick with the bruise on a rose. She's a very shiny bruise. Very kind and thoughtful. Funny. Handy. Makes me happy. And I love her too much to care who else is out there.” Her satin covered forearms hang on either side of Katya's neck. No one else could ever pull it off, but she likes it when Trixie occasionally talks about her in the third person.

 

Katya delays swallowing, trying to think of an adequate response first, but finds her throat quickly drowning. “Ahem, yeah. That's good. I like that. Let's go eat and get you grinded on by some bridge and tunnel trash.”

 

\--

 

They’re in the hotel elevator heading up to the rooftop restaurant. Trixie's jeans are extra tight and dark, new and stiff with a slight sheen. She has the nerve to wear her bronco belt tonight, knowing where it puts Katya’s brain. Katya can’t help but reach over, cup the heavy plate while Trixie looks down. Trixie is so proud of it she looks at _it_ resting in her slim dark-polished fingers, not at her, and that drives Katya a little out of her mind. While Trixie got herself dolled up, Katya put on a darker, more purple toned shade of lipstick than usual. For once, Trixie was too wrapped up in her own look to notice the difference.

 

She lays her face against a stiff embroidered rose and looks up, knowing she can stun Trixie into submission with her eyes.

 

“Hey—look at _me_ , Daddy,” Katya complains just loud enough to make someone else in the elevator wonder if they heard it right, if anyone else was in the elevator. Trixie shakes her head and giggles, brushing her own forehead with embarrassed fingertips.

 

“God!” Trixie tosses her head back, high pitched and exasperated but careful not to flatten her hair against the elevator wall she's leaned against. “Don’t I have a night off?” Katya flexes to pinch the fat just above her belt but stops when Trixie peeks down her blazer. The fine windows of her black mesh bustier lay flat over her skin and a thick black seam puckers over each of her wrinkled nipples. Driving Trixie wild is easy.

 

“Sorry I was preoccupied, had to shave at the last minute. Just the way you like it.” And like that, Katya's head drops practically between her knees and she rakes back her hair to cool her face.

 

“I _love_ it,” Katya laughs when she turns her head up. The elevator lurches at the 15th floor and they both stumble a bit, so Trixie cups her shoulder on the way out.

 

Pulling Trixie back a step behind the maitre d’ seating them, Katya clutches her ass right between her cheeks and says straight in her ear, “Next time grow it out, I can hunt.”

 

\--

 

In the Uber to Henrietta Hudson, Trixie gazes out the window at Christmas lights. The sequins on Katya’s blazer throw off a gentle glimmer inside the car by comparison.

 

“I'm fucking ready!” Trixie had two drinks with dinner and she's fucking loud, is what she is. And bouncy. “I’m pretty sure I’d be okay with a dildo inside like, all the time.” Trixie looks at her and holds her hands out, inviting her agreement. “Because then wherever you are--there it is.” Bounce, bounce, bounce.

 

“Hey,” Katya says, brushing a bit of the haze of Trixie’s hair. “Would you mind putting this up in a ponytail?” Trixie is slow to react, unable to calculate what Katya has asked. “Instead of wearing it down.”

 

“No!” Trixie insists with a loud hand gesture, laughing at the suggestion. “Why are you even asking?”

 

Katya’s pulse thumps faster in her tongue. “Because I only see you wear it down when we’re alone. It feels special to me.”

 

“That’s--” Trixie pauses while her tipsy brain considers Katya's sincere expression. She has a wild, golden glow from gulping two drinks and the blinding highlighter dusted on her nose and cheeks. Trixie and Courtney are still on ice but she’s carved a fresh path for Farrah. That path is illuminated with mica and titanium dioxide.

 

“The whole point is for me to get publicly molested while you stare with your tongue out like a fuckin’ gargoyle, jerkin’ your puss. You don't want me to look sexy?” she mocks in a nasal Long Island accent, dragging her shiny gold nails down her red buttons. So many personas in that arsenal and, by Trixie’s account, she bedded them all in her day.

 

The plan was indeed for Trixie to experience being out in a lesbian bar for the first time in nearly twenty years and experience the desire of other queer women. It’s very different from being lusted after by straight women in straight spaces. She can dance with whoever she likes. Katya doesn’t want her to miss out. Especially after their conversation before dinner, she wants them both to know she didn’t miss out.

 

Whatever happens, Katya gets to take Trixie home at the end of the night, do to her whatever someone might think they could do to her while brushed up against her on the dance floor. So there is a game to it. And the lead is long but it's there to be tugged. Katya didn't dress up for anything but Trixie's distraction.

 

“Do I have to put my hair up?” The small way Trixie asks signals that she wants to now.

 

“No,” Katya answers and shrugs her hands in her lap, “you don’t have to.” She sees Trixie look a bit disappointed, knows the Clydesdale hoof is itching to stomp. It’s important to Trixie to be wooed onto her back, even as she gets agitated along the way.

 

Trixie presses her lips and parts them for a moment before countering. “I don’t have anything put it up with, anyway.”

 

“Oh, I do.” Katya digs through her clutch where she carries both their things since Trixie doesn’t have a bag for occasions like this. She pulls out a fresh blonde-toned elastic--from Trixie’s stash--and holds it up. “Do you want it?”

 

Trixie’s pulse quivers down her flushed neck. She reaches to take it from Katya’s outstretched hand. Only a speck of light reflects off each of Trixie’s eyes but they burn white hot into Katya’s. Their etched fingerprints are plump when they brush against each other because of the excessive heat blowing from the car vents.

 

“Thank you,” Trixie says quietly and starts to gather hanks of her vanilla ice cream colored cotton candy-looking painstakingly styled hair and puts it up in a damn ponytail.

 

“That's what I thought,” Katya whispers smugly while getting a cigarette out to be lit the second her red stiletto sole scratches the curb.

 

“Don't push it!” Trixie snaps back, forcing down the grin on her mouth. Katya screeches then silences herself and throws her hands up in surrender with her unlit smoke between two fingers. “I would have done this hours ago, you're a pain in my ass.”

 

“No one wants to be there before 10.” Katya’s wide smile is so firm it hurts her temples. Before they exit the car, though, she asks Trixie to wait and taps her own bottom lip for a kiss.

 

“Ha! Not with that fucking vampire mouth, my hair is already fucked up.” Katya’s brow crumples and her jaw drops. Trixie melts. _So easy._ “That face, baby don’t make that face, I’m sorry. Turn around. This way, genius, like my hand is doing.”

 

“That apology was sincere,” Katya mumbles as she turns. The car is overly warm but she gets a chill when Trixie slips the blazer off her shoulders.

 

“Where is he … there.” Trixie pushes the back of her bustier down a bit to fully expose the pig tattoo. Her shoulders are far more muscular now than when the little guy first appeared. “God, Kat, look at you.”

 

Katya breathes through her teeth, very aware how she looks to Trixie. She leans towards the driver. “Sir, I'm so sorry. As soon as my girlfriend stops fetishizing my upper body we’ll get out of your car and I'll give you a huge tip.” Before she can sit back Trixie laughs and yanks her into her lap by her waist, careful to land her softly on her thighs. Katya’s skin trembles under warm breath and then Trixie’s lips are pressed to the spot, giving their little friend a shimmery good night kiss before she tucks it away. She helps Katya back into her blazer.

 

Her mind vibrates as Trixie exits the car and calls for her. Out on the curb she discards the cigarette because she’s crushed the filter between her fingers. If she could without spoiling the night, she would ruin Trixie’s face and collar with bruise-colored kisses here and now on the sidewalk.

 

\--

 

The bouncer nudges them through the door and Trixie focuses on her coat folded tightly over her arms while Katya scopes out her spot. The bar at the front near the dance floor is crowded but the one at the back is less so and there are tables back there.

 

It’s about 11pm and the floor is packed with button downs, lace cutouts, tube tops, and mesh. Tight mesh, loose mesh, black and neon. The club forbids beanies and snapbacks so _everyone_ has to show their hair. Bleached undercuts, short twists, and voluminous pixies bob along waves of natural and enhanced lengthy dos, each of them fastidious and intentional. A few soft, round girls slink around each other dripping in curls and velvet, heavily blushed cherub cheeks, stiletto nails with metal embellishments, satin lips. That’s where Trixie would belong, fifteen years ago, Katya thinks. Except they’re quite comfortable here and she never would have been then. Maybe if she were fifteen years younger now.

 

There’s a line at the coat check and they wait in silence while the music thumps far louder than Katya had anticipated. It’s all as she remembers, but standing here with Trixie, unable to talk like they normally would is like being on a horrible first date. From the moment they met and Katya pissed her off, they’ve been talking. Sometimes it’s exhausting but fuck if this isn’t. And she swears she can hear Trixie’s nerves pinging in her head. Katya puts a hand on her back to calm and guide her then drops it, not wanting to immediately give off the vibe that Trixie is taken. It feels stupid.

 

“Put your hand on me,” Trixie insists. “I don't like being disowned in public.” She looks down then, embarrassed at what they both know she put Katya through at the start. Katya won’t allow it. She puts her arm around her waist, winding under the coat Trixie holds in front of her, and tugs her close making Trixie laugh before she looks up again.

 

“I intend to own you in public, everywhere,” Katya assures her. The smiling corners of Katya's lips seem to hold Trixie's shoulders up, and she's afraid if she breaks the stare Trixie would collapse in her arms. Which would be wonderful. Trixie in winter is truly something different. Vulnerable. “What is it?”

 

“Take me home?”

 

 _Oh bitch_. “You sure?” Trixie drops her head just a little with her cheeks in full bloom. It's too much. Katya jerks her body and she's never been so easy to move. “Alright. Traffic will be a breeze, no one’s heading in that direction. Guess I’ll drive the big car, I didn’t have anything to drink,” she lightly grumbles.

 

“You drive it fine,” Trixie assures her gently. “You do everything so well.”

 

“I said I'll do it, ease up on the throttle,” Katya says looking for a way to cut through a sudden rush of club goers.

 

“Fine, you do things that matter to me very well and I love you. Take me home.”

 

\--

 

While Trixie uses the bathroom inside Katya smokes on the curb, forbidden by local laws to smoke near the entrance or lean against the icy glass and brick exterior to look sexy while doing so.

 

**_K: Leacing early … no Beyoncé for me_ **

 

**_G: Did you get thrown out of a sorority party? Do they have those in the city?_ **

 

**_K: Omg did I already tell you I have a fantasy about being murdered in a hazing!_ **

 

**_G: That could still happen, go walk on campus during pledge season_ **

**_You do scream “bury me alive”_ **

  


Katya asks why Beyoncé would signal ‘sorority party’. Ginger types back that Kennedy says ‘because you’re white’. She complains that Kennedy has been snoring while they watch TV and won’t go to bed, let Ginger watch alone in peace. It’s odd, Katya thinks, that that level of security puts an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Not because she thinks it’s passionless, or maybe it’s a little bit that, but mostly because she has never felt it and she doesn’t know if she ever could.

 

“Sorry!” Trixie comes up beside her and snatches her attention away from her phone. “Long line. Everything okay? Is the car on the way?”

 

“Shit.” Katya checks for a message from Uber and is relieved to see she didn’t miss it. “One minute away.”

 

If only to get an especially nice view, Katya holds the door of the Escalade open for Trixie and follows her ass closely at eye level until she sits. Then she slides herself all the way in to give her a quick feel and a kiss. Trixie squeals and shoves her off after only a brief tit grab.

 

“Nuh uh, buckle yourself in over there,” Trixie says with a cheeky twinge in her admonition. She reaches into her pocket and hands Katya a bar receipt. “I got a prize on my way out.”

 

Katya’s jaw drops. “Nice job!”

 

“I didn’t look, what’s it say?”

 

“Her number. And her Insta, which is also her Twitter,” Katya bops her head like it all makes sense. Trixie looks incredulous. Katya shrugs.

 

“Look her up! I wanna see.”

 

“No,” Katya says with a soft laugh. “That's cruel.”

 

“That's jealous,” Trixie counters and pokes at her through the air. Katya smiles shyly, doesn't turn. “Don’t worry. I could never take care of another like I do you,” Trixie coos and reaches to stroke under Katya's chin. Heat prickles Katya's chest and her nipples tighten. She snatches Trixie’s teasing finger.

 

“Watch it,” Katya warns playfully with a wicked grin tugging at her mouth. She's so turned on it's hard to keep her head straight. “Doubt she could take you like I do you,” she smirks, expecting Trixie to flirt back. Trixie doesn’t. She quiets, looking at the window but not through it.

 

“What’s up?” Katya asks. She gets a lazy shrug and relaxes. Trixie can tell her or not tell her, it’s up to her.

 

“I'm a lot bigger than you. Sometimes I feel like it’s too much.” Trixie looks to her then, framed with a slight halo of white frizz around her peach-toned baby face. And all that’s below, her big everything. Her breasts round out and over and to the sides, as do her waist and hips and thighs. Katya squints and dips her head. Trixie chuffs through her nose and looks out the window. “You don’t get it. I have to try harder to feel delicate and feminine. Whatever. Fuck would you know being a … leprechaun.”

 

“That wasn’t necessary,” Katya laughs weakly in response to the jab.

 

“Fine, a fairy. Pixie. Nymph,” Trixie says. “You’re tiny, I’m so not, the difference in how we experience womanhood is real,” she explains, walling out her space with her arms. “I don’t want to prove something that’s my whole life.”

 

“You don’t have to.” Trixie shrugs at her. Well shit. Katya's instinct is to agree with her points and comfort her. But traffic crawls bumper to bumper, and late night construction forces the driver to detour uptown. The longer route gives Katya a chance to think again.

 

“I think I'm a good match for you,” Katya finally says. She unbuckles herself and the grinding recoil of the belt means the driver will know instantly that something is up back there. It steels her determination. She shifts to the middle seat, takes Trixie’s cheek and turns her face in for a peck. When she takes her lips away, Trixie slumps her head back into her hand, her elbow leaned on the window’s edge. Katya palms her belt plate, rubs the rope detail around the edge then pops it open. Trixie’s stomach twitches and she gazes down to watch. The button of her jeans is stiff with newness and Katya needs both hands to pry it loose. Her long thumb gently digs for the zipper pull and she knows all the sensations are teasing Trixie's sensitive belly underneath. Breath comes down on her cheek from Trixie’s nose.

 

Checking where they are through the window, Katya estimates they have five minutes. She quickly moves her mouth to her splotchy exposed neck. It was cold outside and it's hot in the car, and she's made Trixie anxious and a pink branch is crawling up her chest and neck around her ear. Katya follows the pattern with her lips as she grips the pull between her thumb and forefinger, slides it down one metal tooth at a time. The strip of buttons down Trixie’s shirt curls like a pale, spotted snake between her breasts, rising with faster breaths as Katya slides under the lace waistband of her underwear. She runs a finger hard between her lips and bends out her wrist to thrust in. Katya closes her eyes at the snap of Trixie’s dry mouth falling open. She's soft and full, hot and wet in Katya's palm. She's been turned on for a while.

 

“Don't spread your legs, I can get my tongue in,” she says and brings in her other hand to hold back the thick cushion of her mons. Katya takes a few moments to rub the dense curl of blonde hair in the middle of it. A cluster of moisture glistens in it and she spreads it around like she would spread heavy dew through grass, for the satisfaction of getting it all over. Her touch stretches Trixie’s breath into long, concentrated drifts carrying the sweet scent of gum down from her mouth. Trixie’s hand comes up then and she brushes Katya's cheek before dropping it back to push at the fingers she's fucking her with. She wants to control this. But that’s not what they agreed on for tonight.

 

“Let me. Wanna choke on you.” Katya summons her most vulnerable, thirsty tone, letting her teeth drag over Trixie’s neck to sell it hard. It’s not a far stretch from where she’s at. “Please let me?” Katya goes so far as to drop her head between her shoulders before Trixie’s shocked gasp stops her.

 

“Ca-an’t!” Trixie insists in a hiss, her voice softly cracking with a half smile. Her eyes dart to the driver's seat. Katya takes her second hand away and keeps brushing inside her with fingers, barely past her labia and just enough to be slightly better than irritating.

 

“Why not?” Katya asks with mocking innocence. “You think he doesn’t know what I’m doing? Where he's taking you?” Katya gradually shifts from softly questioning to directive. “Think he doesn't know what you deserve?” Trixie shuts her mouth.

 

Katya turns her body to get more comfortable and when she does, Trixie mirrors her and shifts to remain parallel, under. It steels Katya’s spine, feeling like she's got her on a wire. Trixie’s face gleams now with inquiry and the restfulness of trust. Katya brings her free hand around it, spreads four fingers from her cheekbone down to her jaw. She presses her thumb into the hollow of the opposite cheek, leans across Trixie’s torso to get right up to her ear, lets her hair drape over Trixie’s throat. The faux leather interior whines under the pressure. She keeps herself just an inch or two off Trixie’s body, like she could touch Katya if she fucking dared to.

 

“Now. Think you're too much for me to handle? Does that bother you?” Katya barely lets her voice break above a whisper. She nods and shakes her head so Trixie can hear and feel the gestures even if she can’t see her fully. “Let me clear something up: I don’t have to overpower you. No. I move my face and you crumble.” She pushes her thumb into the soft hollow of Trixie’s cheek making her chubby face distort.

“At the club, why did you hand that slut’s paper over to me like I _ow-n_ you?” She draws the word out into two syllables. Her eyes are down to dark slits when she brings them around to gaze again at Trixie’s face. She clamps her fingers a little harder and under the pressure, Trixie’s eyes dip halfway to white and back again.

 

“‘Cause I fucking do. What a good girl.” The whispered consonants tickle Katya's lips and she can barely resist lunging down onto her. She’s still, not trying to fuck Katya’s hand at all. Trixie’s top teeth show beneath her upper lip and Katya shortly instructs her to open her mouth. Trixie won't get exactly what she expects. Knowing this when Trixie doesn't--Katya could curl her hand up and grind it against her, make her come in seconds and spoil everything.

 

Her mouth waters thinking about it, then forward to Trixie’s naked limbs ten minutes from now spread on the hotel bed, making love to Trixie’s whole body. Then backwards to the club, and whoever it was who scrawled out their number having seen her for a _minute_ , without even speaking to her, and what if they had stayed. Trixie dancing with sweat across her back, her ponytail swinging over her shoulders. That same dipshit or a different one palming Trixie’s thighs through her jeans. Trixie’s hands over theirs. Katya's heart galloping.

 

At a stoplight Katya looks down at Trixie’s tongue laid innocently over her bottom teeth. She scoops her fingers out of her and holds them before Trixie’s face, spreads them to reveal a thick clear web stretching to a thread, glowing from the streetlights. Katya tongues the thread until it snaps and carefully sucks them clean, relishes Trixie’s confused, cross brow and her squished mouth still held open. Katya shuts her own mouth tight and hovers over Trixie’s, straining her lips against the desire to swallow. She cups them with her damp fingers, giving Trixie a few beats to catch up, open wider, and stretch up to meet her.

 

Just close enough that she can still see the look on Trixie’s face, Katya spits it onto her tongue, thick and opaque. Trixie locks her fingers around Katya’s knuckles with an appreciative moan. Her boots skid on the floor mat and she kicks a foot into the driver’s seat to brace herself, panting. The driver could be thinking so many things and Katya’s cunt throbs so hard she's tempted to unzip her pants, just to give it more room.

 

Trixie soars up to get closer but a metal click indicates the restraint of the seat belt kicking in. One of her shirt buttons unsnaps. It's only then that Trixie complains, a stuttering whimper through clenched teeth. She’s got to be on the verge now where it would take nothing, maybe just some writhing to finish herself off. Even though she desperately wants to kiss her and encourage exactly that, Katya wipes Trixie’s mouth dry with her thumb, slides back to her side of the car. They both know Trixie could release the belt and do whatever she likes, but she stays put with the belt too tight across her breasts, more of her skin exposed there now.

 

With her legs crossed, Katya looks out the window and squeezes her bottom lip with her fingers. She reaches across the empty seat and strokes at Trixie’s clenched fist, opens her sweaty hand and holds it for the last couple of blocks before they pull up to the hotel.

 

\--

 

It may be difficult to contain this warm milky state and not let it go along the drive, but Trixie appreciates what Katya does to help. She carried all their bags and checked them out at reception while Trixie sat on an ottoman with her coat. Katya also called the garage to have the big car brought out which Trixie didn’t know had to be done. The ‘big car’—that's Katya. She started to call it that and now that's what Trixie’s car is. She started to call things what she wants. Trixie allows her to take possession of them, happily.

 

There is no traffic and they’ve joined the L.I.E. now so there’s no exit for about 50 miles.

 

 _This mornin is Monday_   
_Where are you now?_   
_Teasin' my memory_   
_Tellin' me how_ _  
_ To lay low when I don't want to

  


Trixie sings quietly and hopes Katya won’t ask to skip it.

 

“What’s this one?” Katya asks. “You always sing along.”

 

“Oh,” Trixie says and remains silent through the chorus until the next verse starts. “This song is kind of me and Shea. First I got attached to it because of my ex girlfriend, but…” She goes quiet again.

 

“But what?”

 

“I don’t know.” Trixie’s head gets heavy all of a sudden like she could drift into sleep in seconds if she closed her eyes. It’s an escape, she knows. Her body floods with fatigue to shepherd her away.

 

_Baby, I can't go through this again_

_I don't need to go down more than I've already been_

  


Trixie tries to stay sometimes, and this time she brute forces it. “My girlfriend was really controlling and I thought she was worth it. Because I got to have sex. And get called ‘mine’, every now and then. In this white lace set I bought at the mall, alone, ‘for my boyfriend’.”

 

“Oh baby.” Trixie turns her face into the tingle of Katya’s fingers in her ponytail.

 

“I was just … so horny.”

 

Katya cackles into the wheel. “Just _so horny_.”

 

“Does that surprise you?” Trixie asks with a curious smile.

 

“No. But--white lace, huh?”

 

“Does _that_ surprise you?” Trixie screeches. She wants to know. Katya sighs and never takes her eyes off the road. She changed into a sweater Trixie brought and leggings before they left but her hair and makeup is still pretty fresh. It occurs to Trixie that she’s still in her full outfit, still expectant. She leans over and takes Katya’s tough bicep, pulls her arm from the wheel then takes her hand and strokes the pads of her fingers. The highway lights give the interior a faint orange tint. Katya’s hands need more lotion, probably because she’s not used to using them outside in the winter. It makes Trixie proud of her and also makes her squirm in her seat.

 

“When we get home … are we gonna—“

 

“Fuck?”

 

“Finish what you started,” Trixie says with a buzz on her lips, clamping Katya’s fingers together. She knows the answer by the warmth in Katya’s silvery eyes, how she’s angled more and more towards her even though she won’t even spare a glance because she’s too vigilant of the road and the size of the car. “We could stop in Bridge,” Trixie sings.

 

“God,” Katya laughs and starts to cough, taking her hand back to cover her mouth. Her face is red but not from coughing. There's a notoriously slow intersection at Bridgehampton, the closest town to theirs with big box stores, where they occasionally pull off on the ample shoulder to take respite from the brutal stop and go. With the seats down and a washable quilt in the back, Trixie wrenches up the parking brake and they violently rock her Yukon while cars roll by bumper to bumper ten feet away in broad daylight.

 

“Back to the song.” Katya picks up Trixie’s hand. “And Shea?”

 

Trixie resists with the snort of the world’s tiniest bull. But in the car she can’t go anywhere and she can’t manufacture any distraction. And she herself started it, for a reason. That conversation in the mirror has had Trixie replaying old tapes. While she narrates them aloud for Katya, she focuses on the dashed lines on the highway, the same way she used to let them dull her thoughts on the drive back north to the ranch.

 

\--

 

_October 2007_

 

_Bea always forgets to ask for no whipped cream on her shake. The bland room temperature lump shooting through the straw is so gross. She swallows it with a wrinkled nose._

 

_“I get it,” she says with a numb mouth that conveys aloofness. She’s dying inside._

 

_“Tell me what you get, Bea.” Shea’s drink sits in the cupholder with the top of the wrapper still perched on the straw getting damp._

 

_Puckering her mouth as it regains sensation, Bea shrugs. “It's time to move on, have babies.” Shea laughs at that and it’s the same harsh cackle they’ve often shared at the expense of others. Except now Shea is laughing at her, parked at a Sonic Drive-In in a red F-250 her husband bought for her. At least the height of the cab gives them some shelter in the row of vehicles._

 

_“That’s really what you think is going on?” Her look sends Bea’s eyes down to the footwell. “Guess that’s what you need for peace of mind, as usual. What do you call us for say, the last three, four years? Five?”_

 

_She looks at Shea again, hoping to give her something earnest. “You're my best friend. No one knows me like you do.”_

 

_“That sounds right.”_

 

_Bea smiles, encouraged. “I would have liked to be your girlfriend. We never--”_

 

_“Please, don't.” Those words and the not at all sudden anger behind them hit Bea like a door being slammed and she reels back. “It's too late. I have to be back at the house in less than an hour. Then we're gone. Gone. I have no reason to keep this up,” Shea says, gesturing between them with a finger and looking straight ahead. “You're no good to me,” she finally adds once she turns to the front again, looks through the windshield. It’s a physical relief to be released from Shea’s glower._

 

_Docile teenagers decked out in all black ripstop pants and t-shirts, hats and hoodies collect in the fast food patio in front of them. Two girls lean against the wall beneath the pop music that pipes in through speakers in the corners of the awnings, skin pallid from the restaurant’s floodlights. Clasping each other's pudgy little hands wrapped in stacks of silver rings. It's a school night._

 

_Bea recognizes one of their faces from a few years back, when she was a younger child. She belongs to a mother who lives in a house on base._

 

_“Is that--”_

 

_“It is,” Shea answers. “Did you know her mom has a master’s?” Bea furrows her brow. “They told her she could have a nice career as a spouse. That’s what the speeches tell you. Then you show up to the job fairs and it’s all about the veterans. It’s Starbucks handing out barista applications. And your husband being deployed for months, moving year to year, plus babies? Stressed, exhausted, and short on time.”_

 

_“That’s not fair.”_

 

_Shea nods her head side to side as though she’s weighing it. “I guess not. It’s hard to know what you’re signing up for when it looks good.” That's something Bea can understand. Especially when it looks really good. When you know it can’t be that good but you’re not sure what could be better._

 

Just like a wildfire, you're runnin' all over town  
As much as you've burned me baby, I should be ashes by now

  


_“Sick of this song.” Shea punches the seek button to the next station and doesn't pay attention to what plays on it. Bea knows she still loves that song. They both do. It's kind of a twisted joke between them that it’s their song. So yeah, Bea thinks, why wouldn’t she be sick of it._

 

_“Let me kiss you, please? If you’re leaving anyway.” Bea wipes her cold hand and puts it on Shea’s far shoulder, turning her in. Shea turns with minimal hesitation._

 

_“I'm leaving us,” Shea explains, bracketing the distance between herself and Bea with her hands, “with my husband, who always loved me.” Bea nods and says ‘uh huh’ and brings up Shea’s hand, places a small kiss between her knuckles. “He knows who I am. He sees all sides of me.” Bea nods again, murmurs agreements, and sucks the tip of Shea’s ring finger, far away from her gold wedding band. Shea doesn’t have a bra on. Her nipples are hard and bumpy through the tight fabric of her shirt. Bea wants to pluck at her breasts with her teeth, sleep chest to chest to soothe them. One more time._

 

_“I don't know if he loves them all. I don't know if he even likes them all, I don't give a shit,” Shea laughs and Bea can't help but join in. It feels good to laugh a little. She brings Shea’s hand higher up between their mouths and licks her finger, dribbling onto Shea’s shirt with an apologetic moan. Nothing she does will change the outcome. It’s too late to love Shea any other way. She wants to give her every last thing she can. Shea's jaw is handsome and soft and she lets Bea hold it._

 

_“But he loves me and I'm a whole person when I'm with him,” Shea whispers, her voice wet and crackly when it breaks through. “I love him.”_

 

_“That's how I feel with you.” Bea places a single kiss on Shea’s lips. “Only you.” Another. “Exactly that, a whole person.” Shea’s hair is shortly cropped and she scratches her scalp and neck with her nails. She’s tired of using her tongue for words but she has a few more to say. “I love you, Shea. I love you.” She’s said them before but never like this. Not to anyone._

 

 _“Then this is gonna hurt,” Shea eventually replies through a tight throat. Her face is wet even though she hasn't made a sound. Bea pulls herself away like a sheet off a ghost and slumps into the passenger seat. “I should have had something good with someone else. I could have, if I hadn't been hoping for you. We could have spent so much more time together. I wanted that.” Her eyes are cast up through the windshield, to the constellations. But the bright artificial lights make the stars nearly invisible. “It was painful,_ my _feelings were painful. You think_ your _girl did your head in, my God.”_

 

_“I wish tonight hadn't turned into this.”_

 

_“You brought it up. If you hadn't, maybe …” The softer tone, and the way Shea slumps now, give Bea enough encouragement to turn her hip in her seat. Her baby pink velour skirt is so short her underwear peeks from between her legs. Shea glances down. “You are shameless.”_

 

_She drops her hands into her lap to cover herself. “Sorry.”_

 

_Shea’s shoulders bounce with insincere amusement as she leans arms folded into the wheel. It nauseates Bea and she feels naked zipping up her matching velour hoodie to cover herself as much as possible. For the way Shea could barely look at her, she’d give anything for the work clothes in her car: a turtleneck, flannel and jeans._

 

_“You need to put it away sometimes. Especially at other people’s houses where their families live. Grow out that plastic pussy, have some dignity.” Shea says this with the level of dissociated concern she would afford a Real Housewife on TV._

 

_“What does that have to do with us?” Shea doesn't move at all, looking waxy and numb, and it enrages her. “What’s the point telling me I’m shit now?” she spits._

 

_“I’m not. I’m giving you advice.” Now Shea’s chest moves heavily._

 

_The car goes quiet. They catch their breaths. There is a time when Shea must leave, and a digital clock on the dash blinking towards it. Bea crosses her forearm over Shea’s and weaves their fingers together._

 

_“I keep thinking about that weekend you had a stomach bug. And I pleaded with you to come stay with me, and you wouldn’t? I think you thought less of me because you wanted to be like her. Keep this over here, that over there.”_

 

_“I didn’t, I swear,” Bea cries down Shea’s sleeve. “I thought we had more time.”_

 

_“We had plenty of time. I have to go.”_

 

\--

 

After filling up with gas they pulled in at the attached convenience store for Katya to run in. Trixie watches her through the windshield and store window as she chats with the cashier. She has it so easy, moving around in public and charming everyone. She deserves it, though.

 

A gust blows right as Katya opens her door and her face gets whipped by her own hair. She shrieks and laughs while Trixie grabs the bag she's dumped on the seat, reminds her once she's shut the door to check the footwell in case anything dropped under the pedals. Katya rips open a large bag of Skittles and normally Trixie might comment that they might make her feel awful later on, but she doesn't tonight. She wonders if Katya chose them knowing that she wouldn’t, cups her hand for some which Katya gladly gives. They stay parked, picking through the bag of junk food.

 

“So you don’t consider Shea your ex-girlfriend?” Katya asks while Trixie picks sugar gel from a molar. It’s something Katya can’t understand. Or maybe she could but doesn’t yet. Trixie shrugs. “What happened after she left?”

 

“Ugh, I’m done for tonight. I don’t want to drain you.” While Katya was in the store, Trixie took her hair down and rubbed the tight ponytail spot out. Though she hasn’t looked in the mirror, she makes the most of it by leaning lustily into her seat, licking her teeth to be sure no candy is stuck to them. “You have responsibilities later.”

 

It doesn’t work. Katya taps the steering wheel with her palm, her mouth pulled tight. “I’m not drained. I’m not a baby. I actually like when you need me.”

 

Trixie tries to answer but her mouth twitches open, unable to make one up. She looks to the driver’s side, brushing up against the old memory.

 

“I need you so much.” Her throat hurts around the words.

 

“You can need more.”

 

Trixie wipes her finger around the corners of the console, flicking off debris. “I annoy you a lot though,” she jokes.  

 

“Oh! Yeah you definitely annoy me, but you know … please need me.”

 

Trixie lifts her eyes and Katya's are so sincere and open Trixie drops hers back down. “After Shea I sort of took solace in another woman who wanted to nurse my broken heart,” Trixie laughs with her hand spread shamefully across her forehead. “And when her husband came back, we snuck around.”

 

“Snuck around?”

 

“And when he found out—“

 

“Oh Jesus.”

 

“—I realized I had to leave.” Trixie swallows and rustles through the convenience store bag for a bottle of water for her dry, sugary throat. “First I called Tammie,” she says after gulping half of it down. “I’d been avoiding her for a while and she had to cancel a trip. It was a shitty time but we talked every day until she came out to bring me home. He sent me some weird texts. Tammie looked up getting a temporary protective order, just in case. She was amazing. She felt disappointed in me but so guilty, too.” Trixie feels her face has gone hard and inflexible, frozen. “I didn’t have anyone there to talk to, for personal stuff. Not once Shea was gone.” Now her whole body and breath feels solid and unmovable.

 

In a flash, Katya opens her car door and jumps out. Trixie is sure she’s going to do a primal scream or some shit until she wrenches her door open and steps up on the running board.

 

Katya kneels one shin over Trixie’s thighs and hugs her head into her chest. It’s a minute before Trixie cries, fighting not to sob. “I didn’t care about anything. I had half a dozen maxed out cards. I was tired. Exhausted, all the time. And I was always sick. Shea never would have let me turn into such garbage. She told me to stop being such garbage and I didn’t listen.” She sucks in Katya’s familiar perfume, relishing even the cigarette smoke in the fibers of her sweater.

 

“You weren’t garbage. You were probably depressed as shit.”

 

“I know,” Trixie says quickly, “Jinkx says the same. I don't even feel like that person and it’s easy to talk about it like that. I don’t remember what it was like.”

 

“But you were heartbroken, too.” It’s tempting to resist, like she does when she tells herself she doesn’t deserve to feel heartbroken. But Katya is good at calling things what they are and she accepts it, accepts her hand working an impossible knot into her hair because it feels nice for now. Katya pulls her face up to meet her eyes, nods gently. “I love you,” she blurts and kisses her quickly, “but I’m freezing and getting back in now.” Once inside she blasts the heat and cracks her window to smoke. She draws one from her pack with her teeth and pushes in the car’s lighter, says ‘This is fine’ while she waits for the coil to heat like Trixie has no option, and Trixie loves it. She doesn’t want an option. Then Katya smoothly pulls back out onto the highway.

 

“I told you you handle this beast well. You’re hot, mama.”

 

Katya sticks out her tongue and bites it gently and Trixie slaps the vents on her side shut because she’s burning up. God forbid there does turn out to be traffic in Bridge and if there is, well, they’re both going to have to tolerate Trixie’s seatbelt alarm going off while she stuffs her mouth with Katya’s pussy.

 

“Shhh. Take it easy,” Katya hums. That only makes it worse. “How about a bucket of cold water, is this drama in Colorado the reason you’ve never been on social?”

 

“Yeah, definitely at first. Didn’t want him to find me or anyone who knows me. Then I just never got into it and I saw it was like, young girls, real girly girls—and Willam—all like--” Trixie demonstrates a coy selfie pose with her phone. “Meanwhile some of the guys I work with still have flip phones with belt clips.”

 

“What did you even get an iPhone for?”

 

“Porn,” she yawns. Katya mentions how easy it would be to find Shea, says she bets she’s tried looking up Trixie and asks about her last name. Trixie closes her eyes and sleeps lightly the rest of the way home.

 

\--

 

The house is painfully cold so Katya sent her in to turn the heat on and go straight upstairs while she took care of their bags.

 

“My fuckin’ inner ears are numb, need one of those thermostat app things,” Katya shouts up the stairs on her way up. Trixie is down to her shirt and bra. Katya drops their bags at the foot of the bed, eyes her unbuttoned shirt down to the hem floating around her naked hips. “Uh, that’ll do for me,” she grins.

 

Trixie has a surprise that took weeks to pick so she raises an eyebrow towards the bathroom to send Katya in to change separately. She’d set out to buy simple stockings but got sucked into the rabbit hole of possibilities and landed on these: turquoise fishnet thigh highs and white leather garters. The gold metal rings are heart shaped--why the fuck not? It was Farrah who helped her find them after catching a browser tab left open on her laptop while she filled out client forms, the ones Katya made as promised. Farrah has taken most of the client relationship crap off Trixie’s plate which they have responded extremely well to. It was a slight blow to see Farrah's saccharine approach work so well, even though Trixie was the one to offer Farrah proper tutelage and offload the work she dislikes onto her. But it’s worked out great and she's been far less up Trixie’s ass ever since, as have clients.

 

Trixie finishes fastening her second stocking, gets up and stands like the Birth of Venus at the icy cold window, checking her reflection. She’s pleased and lays herself on her pillows, glad to be home, used to being out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-loud.

 

When Katya comes in from the bathroom she rushes a little because of the chill in the room so Trixie twists her hips towards her side of the bed for when she sees her. She waits patiently while Katya plugs in her phone and connects it to the speaker.

 

Then Katya sees her. “You're so pleased with yourself. Think you're clever, huh,” Katya teases, barely able to keep her tongue in her mouth. Trixie twists deeper to show the back of her thigh, pulls her shoulder back so her breast spreads. “You're fucking beautiful, I hate these, wear them every day,” Katya murmurs as she stretches over Trixie’s body and dips to gently bite the pad of fat between her breasts. They drip down Trixie’s sides now like the pools at the bottom of melted candles. She's on her back gripping Katya's hips with her turquoise diamond printed knees.

 

“Not bad yourself,” Trixie says while loosening the elastic from Katya's hair, the one she put in to wash away her makeup. Her face is so pretty scrubbed clean. Her skin is fragile and soft, filling out a little more over time. When her hair flows down it tickles Trixie’s waist and she can't help but smash Katya's face into her belly. Katya loves it, screeches into it, and scratches her teeth over her navel.

 

“These are amazing,” Katya admires with a sleepy face as she comes up for air. Her fingers are looped through the leather garters at the back of her thighs. She squeezes them and they pinch the tops of Trixie’s thighs just a little, pulling a short hiss through her lips. Katya blows hot breath between her thighs. Just as she thinks Katya will touch her she disappears instead. She stands up and pulls her shoulders back. Her hips are wrapped in a beautiful, glove-soft black and dark red leather harness with an open o-ring. It will be filled soon. The promise of it makes Trixie push herself down the bed, her arms above her head.

 

“God, you're hot like that,” she tells Katya, who looks back at her licking her teeth under her lips like she agrees. “Come get me.” Trixie pushes her thighs out a little and arches her lower back, letting herself stretch open.

 

Then she’s under Katya’s shadow, pushed up the bed and sealed with a kiss. Three chords of a song play.

 

 _Anyone who's ever had a heart_   
_Wouldn't turn around and break it_   
_And anyone who's ever played a part_ _  
_ Wouldn't turn around and hate it

  


Trixie’s head is dizzy when Katya pushes up to look over her face like she’s checking her work. She traces her other hand around Trixie’s face, her bottom lip, over her shoulder and her round upper arm and says ‘All this is for me.’ Trixie nods her head quickly, promises ‘yes, yes, yes’ and tells her it was so nice of her to drive her home, late at night, and still have the energy to fuck her brains out. She's wet all the way back to her tailbone and squeezes Katya with her blue netted inner knees.

 

“Put it in at least, let me see it,” Trixie whimpers, tugging her pubes through the empty o-ring. Katya prefers the brief style but Trixie said no. She wants to feel her, caress, grab, and dig into Katya's bare skin; and when she’s thrusted into being someone she couldn’t with anyone else, Trixie thinks it’s only natural—respectful—to let it get messy. Katya's experienced hands are quick at maneuvering under her loosened hip buckle. She re-tightens and then Katya is heavy around her, hands and knees on either side with a smooth, pink silicone dick hanging down and dragging over Trixie’s lower belly. It's Trixie’s favorite and she's taken good care of it.  

 

Handing it to Katya the first time, once she trusted her to treat her well with it, was an act of faith. Katya was slow and cautious, listened, asked questions, and helped Trixie remember the fantasy she'd hoped for long ago, assured her it wasn’t unrealistic at the time or now. She did all the things her first forgot to do by rushing Trixie through the motions because her coworker was due home soon and did not approve of her railing one of their summer interns. Sometimes when Katya makes love to her now, Trixie has to stop. She has to stop Katya, and then stop thinking how sad that at nineteen and twenty and twenty-one she never knew she’d be here now. Or at twenty-six when Shea left. Or a fucking year ago when the abyss started to open wider and show that it doesn't limit itself, it can go on forever. Or six months ago when Katya appeared in it.

 

Anyone who's ever had a dream  
Anyone who's ever played a part  
Anyone who's ever been lonely  
_And anyone who's ever split apart_   


 

“Get me nice and wet,” Katya rasps, gesturing her head to the bottle of gel lube that sits on the bedside table. For the dozenth time Trixie remembers she wants a deeper bedside table so the edge isn’t so far back to reach. She fills her palm, wraps her fingers around the base and grips as she pulls up and down its length. Katya hangs her head down to watch, flicks her hair to one side and pulses her hips into Trixie’s hand. The head of it is large and soft, and gripping it this hard makes it look like it will erupt. The energy between them is hot enough to make it seem real.  

 

“How's that?” Trixie says softly with a tremor of adrenaline she can't subdue. “You like that?”

 

Katya breathes a few times. “Yeah,” Katya answers with one of them and swallows. That thud in her throat is achingly sweet. She thrusts harder with a tight smile before stopping and exhaling, glaring up with dark, huge pupils. “You know what you do to me?” Katya sits her soaked little cunt down between Trixie’s hips with a groan and a tense wrinkle across her nose and forehead. The slim straps, slick skin, wetness and warm weight bouncing right where she feels distinctly empty makes Trixie moan.

 

“Mmore. More.” She leans her head and shoulders up and they burn. “Rub-it-on-me?” Trixie's words hitch as her arm and tits shake. Taking the time for all this helps Katya take ownership of her dick. That's what Trixie is after. It looks impressively sized between Katya's muscular legs. Trixie reaches and touches the soft wrinkles where her stomach tenses. Her thoughts scatter like marbles, she wants to tear at her so badly, dig through all the pretty pictures painted over it and fuck her from the bottom. Sturdy in it's harness, Katya's dick feels satisfyingly hard and thick on her stomach, slippery with lube. Her dark hair hangs around her face in fluffy waves, brushed out from earlier, and it swings softly when she rolls her hips, rubbing her dick up Trixie’s lower belly. It's hot on the bed, sweaty hot, their breaths blending heavy and fast. She's getting higher and higher and as her head gets a sensation of tipping backwards, Katya seems to grow.

 

 _Heavenly widened roses_ _  
_ _Seem to whisper to me when you smile_

  


“Trixie.” The restraint Katya needs to exert--they're different that way. Trixie can compartmentalize when she's in charge. Katya feels it all and has to reign it in to stay in control. Sensing her limits and helping her stay focused is like holding up the thick blue curtains of the universe together. It's intimate. “I wanna fuck you with this. Can I?”

 

“Yes. Please, please,” Trixie begs quietly, wiping her hand on the sheet, reaching up for her shoulders to bring her down. Katya moves her legs back one at a time and Trixie relaxes while her garters are used to hitch her legs wide, wider than needed. The stretch will make Katya feel bigger and heavier. She leans forward to angle down and Trixie lets all of her in with a small familiar cramp that disappears as soon as it registers. Her eyes drift when she's full, her pelvis flush against hers. She grips down hard as she can, as long as she can, over and over and drips out a little every time. Her breath trembles in and out while Katya smothers her own in her neck, mixed strands of hair sealed between her lips and Trixie’s skin.

 

“Oh … Katya,” she finally says and that's all. Katya closes her arms around her back, clasps her fingers around the soft cover over her muscled shoulders, thrusts into her once and Trixie shakes. “You make yourself so big. I love it,” she whispers with a hot face and Katya giggles into her ear through another moan. The sheets are damp even though the room is still slightly chilly.

 

Katya pushes up and her face shines with fresh sweat.

 

“I love … that all that time you weren't sure what would happen, you still took care of all this.” She rubs Trixie’s temple, drags her hand down over her heart, lays it on her heavy stomach. “You were made for women to love you. That's why you look like this. It's why I look like this.” She pushes up one of Trixie’s tits to suck all over it without pulling out. Her hair spills everywhere. Trixie combs it to one side with her fingers so she can see her intense face working. Her large sharp nose, the little jowls around her mouth, the extra inch of forehead that's a perfect space for sneaking kisses when she's asleep.

 

For her, Katya is beautiful, and she's never asked anyone to agree with her. What she said seems very true; that they were made to see and be loved by each other. Not as individuals, as the kind of women they are. The outside world doesn't fall on their knees wherever they go or even take notice. Their beauty is not objective, it's not for everyone to enjoy, but it's real. It's for them to love.

 

“Katya …”

 

“Mnm.” Trixie looks down and takes her by her ears, guides her up to her neck where she latches back on.

 

“Love you--”

 

“Of course, baby,” Katya coos, her mouth soft and wet near her ear, “I love you, too--”

 

Trixie twists her hair until she quiets with a whimper. “Make love to me. Fuck me. I don't care if I come. Move me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to update my playlist but the songs with lyrics referenced (because I do that every chapter now appaz) are "Ashes By Now" by Lee Ann Womack and "Sweet Jane" by Cowboy Junkies (originally by Lou Reed but I like their cover better anyway). 
> 
> The bit where Shea talks about how military spouses (generally women) are duped by false promises of career support and opportunities was based heavily on an NPR piece I happened to listen to right as I was writing their dialogue and wanting to give the "wives" more depth since they deserve to be more than sex objects in the story. I can't find a link to that interview with two women with post-graduate degrees and unable to find fitting employment but this is an article and there is more written on the topic: https://www.npr.org/2019/02/21/696848723/military-families-experience-high-stress-anxiety-and-unemployment-report-says


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prospect of having her very own purpose at Marigold, the place where she nursed her crackled, pasty, flattened heart and body into something new, something she cherishes and cares about, leaves Katya incandescent and trembling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter :’) The one that remains will be an Epilogue. I wrote this chapter far more quickly than I expected. It feels really amazing and right <3<3<3

 

Katya has never been more content. She's 39. It’s late June, and early in the month, Trixie cut her hair short.

 

 

Shortly after her birthday, Katya fell off a horse and even though all she got was a twisted ankle, Trixie kneeled in front of her in the office’s little makeshift infirmary and said she wants a commitment. Not a marriage, she clarified after Katya asked if that’s what she means, just a commitment to not falling off horses, crashing cars, getting cancer, early Alzheimer’s, Ebola and the like. The hot narrow room was a closet just wide enough for the cracked plastic chair Katya sat on plus a few built-in shelves stacked with gauze, bandages, smelly cleansers and ointments. Before speaking to her, Trixie removed her boot slowly, holding her heel to support the weight of her foot so it wouldn’t pull on the stretched ligaments. Her hands got smeared in dirt, grass, and sand. She likes doing this, Katya thought to herself as she relinquished control of her thigh and let Trixie handle her. She thought of creative forms of gratitude as Trixie wrapped and secured her swollen ankle. Then this came up. Katya told her she can probably promise no Ebola, the others are out of her hands, but marriage is realistic.

 

“Did you hit your head? I didn’t say marry me dammit, I said don’t die!” Trixie pushed herself up, caking mud on her jeans. The glass doorknob came off in her hand when she wrenched it open to fly out. She hurled it to the floor and Katya sat in her chair looking out while Kennedy stood staring in at her with Jerrod, waiting to drop him off with Ginger. After scooting the chair around the few inches the tiny closet would allow, Katya used the door frame to lift herself, then used the hand Kennedy offered her to lurch over to the scratchy couch opposite Ginger’s desk.

 

“I’m fine,” Katya assured, “I’ve seen _Misery._  I’m clever.” She collapsed back and panted as a light cloud of dust puffed around her.

 

Kennedy laughed. “She wants you to get on _your_ knees and ask.”

 

“Yeah, I got that answer, too. Thank you.”

 

 

Tammie has once again brought them all to her house for a pre-July 4th hot tub party. This year Trixie’s swimsuit is a white bandeau top with ruffles around the neck and shoulders, red bottoms leaving a few inches of skin around her middle with a pink scald from the hot water.

 

Trixie’s hair is slicked back and mascara dots her damp upper cheeks. She doesn’t need hair elastics this year. When it’s wet it gathers to a point down at the bottom of her neck and Katya likes to pinch and pull it. If no one was looking she might suck on it, too. She has to use different hair products to style it now and they taste good. Trixie was anxious about cutting it all off, worrying she would be mistaken for a dude more often the way she sometimes was when she wore it up in a bun. It didn’t matter to Katya either way so she told her to try it, see how she’d cope if that happened. Hair grows back.

 

It was still a shock to see her for the first time. When it’s dry her hair is now above her jaw with wavy side-swept bangs and soft layers to pull up the curls. It’s much more of a look. It’s beautiful and flattering. Katya wishes she had realized before that it would internally mark a new before and after. She’s known for a while she’ll be with Trixie for life, even if she couldn’t admit it to herself; now she knows she will propose to her because the world is new again. With Kameron there were smart reasons not to; it was expensive, they were close enough already, their schedules and mental energies were maxed out. With Trixie, there isn't any reason but to make each other happier. And because Trixie is a wife, among many other roles. Katya wants to make her one every remaining day of their lives.

 

For now, she tugs the thick ducktail at the back of Trixie’s neck, watches her listen to Willam and Ginger and occasionally cast her a side glance. Kennedy stayed home with Jerrod. Adore didn’t last the winter.

 

On the porch attached to the house, Courtney and Farrah sit with Jinkx and fawn over the small, firm bump that can only be distinguished from her regular belly when she stands and hoops her arms underneath it. In addition to no alcohol or secondhand smoke, no deli meats or soft cheeses, no raw seafood or raw milk, Jinkx can’t go in the hot tub. The girls stay out with her in solidarity, and in curiosity, a desire to be close to something spectacular unfolding every moment. Courtney sits close while Farrah fetches them food and drinks.

 

It happened very quickly once Katya got involved and helped her make a choice to switch protocols. Jinkx thinks she was a cosmic force, organizing the chaos and soothing her so she could get pregnant. Katya assured her that though lots of things can help, calming yourself is not one of them. When Trixie asked why she won’t let Jinkx believe what she wants, Katya said blaming stress for infertility is misogynistic. Katya is very happy for Jinkx now, but her success invited a wave of regret. In the middle of the night in May, unable to sleep, she drilled into Facebook once again. No sign of new life. Then she closed it and moved on, once again.

 

“Hey,” Trixie says to get Katya’s wandering attention. “That’s turning me on,” she whispers in Katya’s ear, cupping it in the wrong direction so that Willam and Ginger can see and hear her. She’s stoned. Joints and cigarettes were forbidden from the porch, per Tammie. She clapped at them to shoo them further away when she smelled weed from her kitchen, so they had to finish it in the woods like teenagers, shivering in wet swimsuits. “Did you hear what I said--”

 

“We did!” Ginger interjects and pushes herself up with her plastic cup in hand, balances herself on the edge. Willam rockets himself out and helps her delicately dismount.

 

Trixie approaches slowly for a kiss and Katya rolls her eyes. “Idiot.”

 

Trixie pauses and throws her arm towards the house. “Got them out, didn’t it?” she says in a bit of a shout.

 

“Genius!” Katya giggles while Trixie closes in on her lips. The corners of Trixie's mouth are sticky from lime juice, and Katya licks one side to clean it before Trixie reels back screeching.

 

“Might not be our exact anniversary,” she says, wiping where Katya licked with water from the tub, “but it basically is. It’s our deja vu.”

 

“It would be deja vu if we felt like this already happened even though it didn’t. This did happen and now we're back in the same place. It’s our memory.” She looks at Trixie's motionless, irritated, fascinated smile until she can't help but laugh.

 

“I love you,” Trixie shrugs. She rolls and pins Katya on either side letting her feet float behind her. Her fat tits bob and press together over Katya's and Katya lets her body float up until their hips touch. She spreads her hands over Trixie's wet biceps, turned back into the color of a pink-brown speckled egg by the sun, and pushes her down. Trixie's chin drips and her wicked smile gleams. “It’s not easy to fuck in the water.”

 

“I wasn't trying to,” Katya says, bopping her breasts into Trixie's collarbone. Trixie pushes herself lower still until her lips reach Katya's crushed velvet cleavage to blow raspberries, then bubbles. Katya squeals at the tickle and pummels her ass with her heels. They're reasonably obscured from view of the house.

 

“Everybody, food’s up,” comes Tammie's call from the kitchen a few short minutes later. Chair legs creak and feet tumble around the porch in the near distance. Katya's nipple stretches deep in Trixie's mouth and she ignores the dinner announcement, presses her pruned knuckles into her forehead. Her foot breaks the surface between Trixie’s and water drips down her ankle like the tip of a tongue. Her bottom lip is about to bleed between her own teeth. This is a bad idea. They could get caught any second. Every second feels so good. Katya lets the shortest, softest moan escape.  

 

“Girls!” Tammie hisses directly from the porch overhead. Before Katya reacts, Trixie shoots up and throws her arm across to cover her, scoops her up with the other. Fully shielded and safe from slipping under, Katya drops her breast back into her swimsuit--same one as last year, she couldn't be bothered with something new--and cowers in thrilled shame.

 

“Nice job, lookout,” Trixie teases. She holds a towel out to wrap her in. Katya slides off the side of the hot tub and crashes into Trixie's chest, wiggles to make her rub her down with the thin Lisa Frank-looking towel.

 

“Pretty sure we got what we wanted outta that,” Katya purrs, looking up. Trixie's wet bangs form a thick greaser curl at the front as they start to perk up. The sight makes Katya's shoulders round and she paws like a cat at the ruffles on Trixie's top until she kisses her. Her face is striking, her nose and cheeks appearing more defined. Katya reaches up to stroke them. She can't picture her with full makeup now and she's curious what that will be like. In bed, after she got it cut, Trixie asked if it felt like she was kissing someone different and Katya said no, unequivocally. Someone's kiss doesn't change like their hair, wrinkles, or shape. When Trixie kissed her goodbye early the next morning and Katya brushed the short hair at the nape of her neck with her fingers, she made a plan to welcome her home like she’d promised her once; she wore nothing but one of Trixie's work shirts hanging open, got her dirty top and bra off, and fingered her in her unzipped jeans right inside the front door.

 

\--

 

While the group eats and Trixie changes into clothes, Katya returns through Tammie's kitchen having dropped their swimsuits in the Jeep.

 

“Hello Katya.” _Damn._ Being acknowledged by Tammie right now feels like being caught by Trixie's mother. Though not Trixie's actual mom, who was really kind and easy to feel warm with. Christmas Day was plenty awkward, but not because of Trixie's mom. So many drunk straight men in one single floor house, so many Mikes with huge hands (just two, but still), so much sitting with plates of food and no elbow room.

 

“Heyyy Tammie. I'm sorry about earlier, we got carried away,” Katya replies and stiffens in the face of Tammie's doll-like Shirley Jones flip ‘do. She's at the sink and leans one hand on the stainless steel rim of the basin. “I hope you know I really care about her. I love her.” Katya's chest feels doubled and it hurts until she can find the breath to fill it. “She loves me, too, but more importantly I love her. I love her and I love making her happy and that's not an excuse for uhh … being horny in the hot tub, _your_ hot tub, but I'm saying--” Katya stops, having gradually pulled most of her hair down from its banana clip into curtains around her face. _Next year I'll be forty fucking years old._

 

Tammie laughs with a closed mouth. “Aha, the notion that someone would be this distressed over an exposed tit. Or is it that you’re trying to convince me you're good enough for her?” Her eyes open wide enough to see white all around them and she tilts her head forward. Katya takes it as a challenge she wasn't prepared for, and she reluctantly, slowly shrugs her palms up. At the peak of her discomfort, Tammie releases the gas and her face becomes soft. She reaches for the dish soap and drizzles it over an oily pan. “You don't need to do either, Katya. I know you are very good.”

 

Katya's eyes narrow. “What's that based on, worldly wisdom?”

 

“Not at all, it's them,” Tammie says lightly like it's nothing, twirling her hand towards the filled room. _Yes. This is a house full of people who know. And that's enough._  “Besides, I’m not her keeper. I stay close because she needs it. She does need that, Katya. She needs to know where the fence is.”

 

There's an old stool by a small table covered in months of old, opened mail and though it has more rotted foam than ripped floral covering now, Katya takes it. It's sweet and insightful, what Tammie said about Trixie, and Katya understands what she means; but it also seems rather cool and distant. That may be what she's capable of.

 

“Ginger said you had an idea a while back about Marigold being a place for youth? _Queer_ youth?” Tammie inquires with a squinted eye and mouth. Katya's ears perk. She isn't sure if it’s the concept or the word that Tammie is squinting over.

 

“Marigold could stay as is but we--whoever--could promote that there are a lot of us there, we are open and affirming," Katya explains, "and we will recruit your children.” Tammie grins into a twinkly snicker and Katya exhales. “Personally I think with a very low output the impact would be great for any youth it reaches. Adults, too. We can connect with resources out here so we know where to point people who need help. So we're not overreaching.”

 

“I know every homo out here, that's easy,” Tammie says, pointing her green polished nail like a gun. Immediately Katya thinks of the well-meaning rich old men who once wore leather chaps who will somehow have an opinion and make it known. “You and Ginger can do this, anyone you need connections to give me a ring. Any development needs as well. Why not make it a big output, if you are going to say ‘Fuck the East End’?” Tammie finishes with an intensely focused flourish.

 

The offer could not be better. Ginger is perfect to do it with, she won’t let Katya get bogged down by other people’s bullshit.

 

“What about Trixie?”

 

“She’s a successful owner and I don't need or care to meddle,” Tammie answers easily. Her tone is calm again. “But my money, my choice. From your friends in there buzzing in my ear, you've been working for free for a while now.”

 

Katya gets nervous thinking about what she should be paid for and sidesteps it. “Ginger will need a raise to take this on, I think. You know, family. I mean she has a family.” Tammie agrees. 

 

The prospect of having her very own purpose at Marigold, the place where she nursed her crackled, pasty, flattened heart and body into something new, something she cherishes and cares for, leaves Katya incandescent and trembling.

 

\--

 

She waits for Trixie to notice her standing frozen. When Trixie does, she gets up from her spot on the couch between Jinkx and Courtney. Her coverup is a short white cotton gauze thing and a lamp behind her shows her outline through it. Katya steps over tanned, toweled legs to meet her and hug her down, making Trixie hunch her shoulders. 

 

“You okay?” Trixie asks.

 

“So good.” She can’t stop smiling.

 

“Good. Wanna go soon?”

 

“In a little while.” Trixie sits her on the couch and takes a seat on the floor, then drapes Katya’s calf over her shoulder and kisses it. Once she settles, Katya notices a collective expression across the room. “What?”

 

Ginger puts her plate down and chuckles. “I’m not saying it.”

 

“Not it,” Willam says munching an ear of corn.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I'm pregnant I’ll say it, they're laughing at Trixie sitting on the floor for you.”

 

“And for you,” Courtney adds, leaning around Katya to address Jinkx with a wink.

 

Jinkx fluffs her hair with her mouth half open. “I wouldn't know anything about that.”

 

“Oooh,” Courtney teases.

 

Jinkx leans back over to Courtney. “I think you have a Juvederm bulge impeding your speech, dear,” she stage whispers, poking Courtney's lips with her finger.

 

Katya sinks into the couch under the arc of the banter, unable to discern if this is some advanced bitchy mating ritual or a fight. Jinkx wears a severe smirk she wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of. Courtney points to others with a sort of babe-in-the-woods look on her face, tallying opinions or something of that nature. Maybe Jinkx’ fetus will burst through her stomach to take the next round. It would look pretty pathetic at this stage like a baby bird just born, cheeping weak insults.

 

Trixie tugs at the hem of her cover-up. “Katya?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Say something!” Trixie quietly begs. “Stop this, please?”

 

Jinkx booms across her then. “I can't _wait_ to save my placenta, and every day I will tear off a little piece and throw it in the trash just to spite you and your VITamins.” Katya erupts in laughter followed by Willam while Ginger’s jaw hits the floor. Farrah coughs up a tortilla chip into her napkin. Courtney stomps on Trixie's shin when she flies out of the room. Trixie shouts in pain and the chaos starts to overwhelm. When she reaches her limit, Katya catapults herself off the couch. She didn’t pay attention to which way Courtney went, and she had not intended to follow her. But Tammie points her towards the driveway and Katya feels she owes it to Tammie, at least, to make an effort.

 

She sees Courtney sitting at the bottom of the cracked and irreversibly mildewed kitchen entry stairs squashing bits of moss around the house’s foundation under her fingers. Katya's face relaxes with tenderness. She was kind to her before Trixie was. Sort of. Whatever the case, Katya knows the pain of feeling like you can’t be around that particular group one moment longer. They’re so wonderful that being unable to tolerate them means realizing you are, in fact, the worst piece of shit among all the shits in the universe.

 

“Hey,” Katya starts, nudging Courtney’s shoulder with her bare toe. Her sky-high ponytail sways and stills.

 

“Hi.” She has to give it to Courtney, Katya assumed she would be weepy but she’s gone for too-tired-of-it-to-cry instead. Intense. “Do you have your pack on you?”

 

“I do! In my car, stay there.” Katya returns in a flash with four cigarettes and a lighter. “So why are you fighting with a pregnant lady?” she says with a cigarette in her lips, trying to get her lighter to work. It’s almost empty. “Is this a baby shower ritual down under, to thin the herd?”

 

That earns a slow blink. “I’ve tried to make friends with these people for years. Jinkx and I have a bit of history.” Courtney wiggles her eyebrows and Katya tries to act like she already knows. In reality, as soon as they’re alone, she will wrestle Trixie to the floor and make her tell her everything. “I told her what I’m about to tell you which is no secret, that I find Trixie to be … not my favorite person. Turns out that is not something you should tell the best friend you want to root.”

 

“Root? Like … --” Katya cups her hand over her nose and digs under. Courtney shrugs and smiles. “Jesus,” Katya laughs and finally manages to light two cigarettes for them. Courtney takes hers and doesn’t smoke it right away. The paper isn’t fully burning and Katya worries it will go out. A few seconds pass and Courtney's inaction is driving her to irrational anger.

 

“I don’t think she told Trixie, and even if she did it’s not as though she and I ever got on well. We never will. But Christ, even fucking Farrah is in now. Just last year, everyone still thought of her as the idiot and now she’s Trixie’s bloody apprentice.” She finally takes a drag. “They all get along with her, one way or another. I shouldn’t be talking about it with you, of all people.”

 

“Listen, bitch, never forget you can go home at the end of the day without her.” Courtney laughs deeply at that. Katya is reminded of something. “I’m sorry about Adore.”

 

Courtney rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Oh God, what a moron, right?”

 

Katya shrugs. “Still.”

 

“Thanks,” Courtney mouths. Her mind rests on it until a mosquito lands on her knee which she promptly smacks, leaving a tiny streak of someone else's blood on her. Courtney doesn't mind. She scrapes the remnants onto the edge of the step. 

 

“If you can accept Trixie as she is, exactly as she is, you can be happy at work, I think. I like you being here. I would care if you left.” Courtney's sparkly eyes are too pure and sincere and Katya can only bear it for so long. “Because someday I really hope to get you into a threeway. I've written details, it’s so hot.”

 

“I will literally never, ever, not ever, under any circumstances let that twat touch me.”

 

“But can another part of her touch you?” Courtney gets to her feet and turns to walk upstairs.

 

“Not while I’m alive,” she responds with an unusually strong accent. Katya hunches over in a silent laugh and pushes herself up.

 

“We can put that in your contract!” she giggles behind her, stopping to put out the cigarette she half smoked and leave the other two on the ledge.

 

\--

 

About an hour and many cumulative solo cups later, Courtney nestles against Jinkx who apologizes and blames her outburst on hormones. Courtney asks if she can blame her own outburst on Jinkx’ hormones, too.

 

“Jinkxy, I love you and I love your baby but I can't wait ‘til next summer so we can be back to normal!” Trixie bellows. “I want you in the hot tub with a margarita, no more no fun zone.”

 

“Hehe, aha, ahem,” Ginger chuckles mockingly. “Miss Trixie, will _you_ be sitting up here in the house holding and feeding the baby so Jinkx can enjoy herself for ten goddamn minutes?” Her eyes bulge.

 

“Fuck no,” Trixie laughs.

 

“Yes she will, she is going to be a very good auntie to la Monsoon pequeña,” Tammie says in a cloying goo-goo voice, leaning on the arm of the couch and caressing Jinkx’ stomach which is mostly just her body, not the baby. It's clear to Katya from Jinkx’ profile that she wants to bite Tammie's hand. It's hilarious.

 

“I love babies, I can help!” Farrah squeaks from the floor. Katya sighs. Of course, Farrah loves babies. She probably lactates when she cries. If she could just for once shut her eager, pipsqueak, glitter-dipped face while the grown-ups slowly bash each other unconscious with Nerf bats …

 

“I am not worried about hot tubs and babysitters, thank you,” Jinkx interjects in the barrage of unsolicited discussion about her impending motherhood. “I'm trying not to have any expectations of what life will be like a year from now.” That furrows Katya's brow. It doesn't sound like her. She sees Courtney pat her hand. Willam gets up and clears Jinkx’ plate, says something Katya doesn't catch but it makes Jinkx chuckle.

 

“I have an idea,” Ginger says sucking her teeth clean and handing her plate to Willam. “Let’s set up an Insta for the baby, and then Trixie can follow and unfollow it!” Katya howls. Trixie leans her face in her hand and shakes it in shame while the room glows with changed energy. Everyone laughs a little easier with Katya around, and Trixie can laugh with them at her own expense.

 

In February, Katya decided to post a picture of herself and Trixie for Valentine’s Day. Immediately, a wave of doors flung back open. Old friends had forgotten that a burst of anger some years ago drove them to lock her out. They heard the news of her new home and relationship from the lurkers and remembered their friend, Katya. Their pictures and updates started to show up again, a new old friend or two every day that week. A few sent kind messages saying they’re happy to see her doing well.

 

She took the swell of joy and faith in humanity it brought her and convinced Trixie to set up her own accounts. Within a month of sparse use, Trixie got into it and nosedived into the politics of unfollowing. She’d seen that most of the others follow Chelsea so she did too, found her posts boring and clogging up her feed so she unfollowed thinking nothing of it. Tears ensued.

 

It’s been cute having her on social, despite her Bambi-ness, but the main reason for bringing her to the mountain is to reconnect with Shea, wherever she may be. Katya has not pressed the topic. Trixie knows how to look. 

 

The tightness of a fresh sunburn itches Katya's shoulders even though she's sure she applied sunscreen. Then she remembers she did her arms but forgot to ask Trixie to do her shoulders. She can do them herself, of course, but she likes to ask Trixie to and she forgot so now she's burned. Fucking fantastic.

 

\--

 

At about 9:50, Trixie's phone rings just as she's in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Only a few people can ring through if they call repeatedly after 9 pm. Trixie’s face feels hot and her tongue buzzes as she tries not to race through every possible explanation.

 

She was just arranging herself in her custom-made lingerie set, a Christmas gift from Katya. It wasn't one Katya chose specifically, she got her a gift card for a shop that makes items to measure, an option Trixie had never considered before. She took over a month deciding and ended up with a matching set of pale peach velvet high waisted underwear and a long line bra, specifying coral pink straps she saw on another set. It fits perfectly as promised like nothing ever has, and it's soft enough Trixie could sleep in it even with the underwire. It can make her body appear decadently inviting or commanding.

 

“It's Jinkx,” Katya calls through the door. Thank God for her. “Can I answer and bring it?”

 

“Yeah,” Trixie says back weakly, then clears her throat. “Yes.” Katya is already there handing her the phone. She puts it to her ear and hears by Jinkx’ silence that she's been crying. Trixie shuts the door on Katya without saying anything. She wants to rip this lovely lingerie off and burn it. Not really, but she's overwhelmed with that feeling of something being great one moment and shit the next.

 

“Trixie …”

 

“What happened, are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

 

“Yeah, he's fine. I just … I don't know what I've done,” Jinkx wails.

 

“What have you done?”

 

“ _This_ ,” Jinkx shouts at the other end. Trixie winces and turns the phone on speaker, opens the bathroom door. Katya waits at the foot of the bed in a cropped tee and underwear and they lay down together to listen. “I decided to do it totally alone and I'm going to be totally alone.” She takes a big sobbing breath. “Where were you tonight? Why couldn’t you sit with me instead of going off where I can't?” A sick weight crashes in Trixie's stomach. “You're going to marry Katya. I'm really happy for you. But you don't want to be there for me. And I don't want someone else. I don't want Farrah volunteering to drop my baby on his head. I don't want Ginger bossing me around with her snatchy know-it-all cube-headedness.” Jinkx tears through mercilessly until she's dumped on every person they know and her own parents, too.

 

“You're so upset right now. I think I can imagine how it feels,” Trixie says, shrugging and looking at Katya. She does know about feeling alone. She knows it in abundance. “Everyone wants to help, though, and I think when the baby is here you'll be happy to have all of us.”

 

“God, Trixie, really? I want my best friend. Please, I need to know you intend to be there, not abandon me because I’m no fun anymore?” _Ah fuck, that sounds vaguely familiar._ “You wouldn't ditch me if I was sick or in trouble, so if it helps maybe just think of this baby as the worst thing that's ever happened to me?”

 

As Jinkx waits for her to reply, Trixie looks to Katya typing and deleting quickly on her phone. She shows Trixie the note on her screen:

 

**_I was a cunt. I'm sorry._ **

 

“I was a cunt. I'm sorry,” Trixie says, looking at the screen. Her hand finds its way to her eyes, pinching at them to block the bedroom light on the ceiling. “I'm so sorry.”

 

Jinkx’ sniffling rattles the speaker. “You were.”

 

“What can I do to fix it?” Trixie slaps Katya's phone away, ignoring the obscene message and numerous eggplant and squirt emoji she's typed out since. Katya busies herself fingering the velvet edge around Trixie's thigh.

 

Once she winds down, Jinkx explains she needs a place to keep all the gifts and hand-me-downs because Jews often don't keep things in the house before the baby arrives. Same with furniture. Trixie offers to hold onto them and to host a shower, but Jinkx declines for the same reason, not wanting to attract the evil eye. Katya says she'll come by with Willam and his truck to pick up what she has and Jinkx can change her registry address to Trixie's. _You're going to marry Katya._

 

They discuss details like how many additional Pack ‘n Plays need to be purchased so Jinkx can bring her baby anywhere, which makes Jinkx especially happy. Trixie sits up and leans against their new upholstered headboard, invites Katya into her arms. It isn’t just any headboard. Katya built it with Willam’s assistance, something Trixie tries to be cool with since he’s essentially Katya’s colleague now, even though it weirds her out that he helped with something so intimate as this. She refinished a thick wood base found at an estate sale, cushioned it with thick foam padding topped with plush velvet the color of pink oysters. It wasn't ready in time for Christmas but it was for Valentine's Day. Trixie had a Christmas and a Valentine's Day with a good woman. That anyone would do this for her, and that it’s theirs … Trixie cried her eyes out when she first saw it.

 

“Do you feel better? Good enough to sleep at least?” Trixie asks Jinkx.

 

“I do. Embarrassed. But relieved,” Jinkx mumbles. She sounds completely exhausted, even for her. She's been crashing by 8 pm, waking up in the night starving and then going back to disrupted achy sleep. Her hips and groin pinch from everything growing and pulling and pushing around in there. She only just started her second trimester and this fetus is a frog-sized tyrant.

 

“One more thing,” Katya says before their goodbyes. Trixie reaches to push her hair behind her ear and pull her earlobe. Her breasts are just half an inch under the hem of her t-shirt and the cotton smells like laundry detergent. She wants to suffocate under there. “Did you say ‘he’?”

 

Jinkx is silent then exhales into the phone. “Yeah. I did.” Her smile is audible.  

 

Trixie screams. “You have a tiny dick inside you!” The three of them roar. “Might be the last time.”

 

“It's not the first!” Jinkx laughs back. 

 

“Shut up, whose tiny dick?”

 

“Oh stop, I didn't mean tiny. I don't make fun of people's genitals, anyway.”

 

Katya gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom. Trixie switches off speaker mode to finish the conversation with Jinkx, watching with interest as the bathroom door shuts. The reason Trixie has her phone on ‘do not disturb’ after 9 pm now is that they have to go to sleep early to be up early, even on weekends. So they need to fence off undisturbed time. Katya asked for it and it's worked great so far. They were running late because of the party, but well on their way to a sexy, Saturday night, air-conditioned romp when Jinkx’ call interrupted.

 

The doorknob twists and Katya steps out naked. Trixie thinks of her minimal clothes curled in a short heap by the toilet. She thinks of Katya looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, scrunching her hair and brushing it forward over her shoulders. Checking her tattoos for fading, considering adding something new since she hasn't in years. Things she's seen her do a hundred times now.

 

“Good night,” she says into the phone. Katya switches off the room light and lays into the soft blanket next to her. Trixie leans over to kiss her carefully, runs her fingers up her thigh and over her hip. She pauses and breathes faster looking down around the tight oval of Katya's stomach laid flat. Her thighs flutter against each other under Trixie’s patient desire. She's so sweet sometimes when she's antsy. Sometimes she can be demanding and aggressive, watching Trixie go about her work or cleaning up at home, and Trixie knows she's fixated and waiting for a corner to present itself so she can shove Trixie into it. But she's sweet now. Maybe she's in a teasing mood tonight. Just a little. Long day.

 

When Trixie reaches her shoulders to pose the question she hisses at how hot they are to touch.

 

“Baby,” she says with pity.

 

“I let them burn,” Katya pouts, turning her face up.

 

Trixie laughs against her lips. “It's okay,” she says and kisses her, “I'll get aloe.”

 

“No. Don't, not yet,” she protests, her hands thrown across Trixie's, squeezing in little pulses.

 

Trixie gulps. “Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Katya says and her voice breaks. She knows. She takes her hands back, slides them down her grey-lit body and pulls her knees to her chest. “You gotta fuck me first.” Her smile is mischievous.

 

Trixie lounges back on her arm and casually picks at the blanket scrunched between them. “I don't think so. I think you'll wait until after.”

 

“Wait?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

“How long?”

 

Sometimes she wishes she could be a touch more sadistic. But their scars are still sore. “How do you feel about getting that burn?”

 

Katya's eyes jump. She bites the tip of her thumb. “Annoyed with myself.” She rolls from her back to her side, crosses one leg over the other to hide herself. Trixie’s eyes flick to where she can't see. If she can play she can hold out a little longer.

 

“Well that's no way to feel, it's not good for you. Next time I'll pay more attention to what you need.” The assurance makes Katya smile and turn onto her stomach peacefully. She drags her eyes over sections of Trixie’s body. Her tits. Her waist. Her stomach peeking out under the velvet. Her legs stretching to the end of the bed. Trixie knows how good the moonlight from the windows makes her look to her. “Can you wait for me to get something that will help?”

 

Katya's groans into her pillow. When she comes up for air the veins around her face are throbbing. “Why?”

 

Trixie rolls her eyes and laughs. “Have you ever regretted waiting for me?” It's undeniably harder when Katya wants her so much it shows along the lines and edges of her. “Go on,” Trixie tells her as she unfolds herself and stands in silhouette against the dim blue light. When she turns to leave her breasts round up and out, pushed up enough to bounce at the top. Trixie doesn't have to look back at the rustle of blankets to know she'll find Katya with her knees spread on either side, her neck and chest hugged against a pillow, fucking battering her clit. She has no chill when she's like this. On other occasions, when she touches herself skillfully so Trixie can watch, study, examine up close, she reveals flashes of how she's been her own nurturer most of her life. She's gorgeous like that. But it makes Trixie want to take it all off her hands, or at least ensure Katya knows she can. Whenever she wants, for however long.

 

All she does is wash her hands and grab a towel. The silicone lube can stain. Katya's plug is in her bedside, but getting the box out now would spoil it. She wants to put the towel down first. 

 

“I could watch you do this all night. You're so fucking hot,” Trixie tells her from the end of the bed when she comes back in, kneeling on it so she feels her presence. 

 

Katya slows down with a gasp. “Come on. Stop fucking with me,” she whines, angry with a smile on the end. “I want you.” The thick backs of her thighs are chalk white. Between them her vulva looks dark by comparison and matte. It begs to be wetted and there must be plenty inside. Trixie tucks the towel under her shins. “Oh fuck, yes, please.” She knows. 

 

“Do you want your pl--”

 

“Yes!” 

 

“Okay!” Trixie replies in kind. “I _am_ trying to be as annoying as possible, by the way.”

 

“You win, stop trying,” Katya says into her hands. She quiets when Trixie first strokes between her cheeks over her puckered skin, encourages her to push the tip of her ring finger inside.

 

“Slow enough? Good,” Trixie checks, helping the tightest part of her relax with the oily lube. With her dry hand she strokes her fingers through Katya’s folds, resists when she pushes back on her hand. Her labia glisten now and Trixie pulls along them easily, massages them between her fingers until her hand is sticky. Katya hugs her pillow and keens into it. When she's ready, the plug slides in with steady pressure and her pleasant hum. The metal loop gleams right above her pussy dripping onto the towel. Trixie cleans her hands with wipes from a box that always seems to be somewhere else the moment they’re needed.

 

“Come up to me, Kat, let me kiss you,” she says scratching very lightly at the lowest vertebrae piercing Katya's curled body. Her spine rolls up with muscular fluidity and Trixie wishes she had a bit more to scratch with, to dig in. She hasn’t bothered getting her nails done since Valentine’s Day. She holds Katya by her long, thick hair and kisses her, reaches down and grips her full pubes, too, swallows the gasp she makes. She tastes Katya's tongue and takes spit from her mouth like she wants anything about to be discarded so she can get something from it. When she lets go, Katya hangs around her neck and kisses at her chin, mumbles something to her, something she wants. She says the word that makes Trixie’s thighs tingle. 

 

“Lean on the headboard?” Trixie asks though she could have just told. Katya turns, spreads her fingertips over the velvet to form the outline of an open seashell. The black flowers drape over her arms like lace. She’s up on her knees, ass pushed out like a fantasy Trixie didn’t think she was allowed to have. “Do you know what you want me to fuck you with?”

 

“Just you.” Trixie blushes. Her ears and neck burn and she closes her eyes for a few breaths to center.

 

“I like that,” she agrees. It hurts, to be wanted so much and to want so much in return. She anchors her touch by placing a hand on her sacrum. Katya’s skin is hot. The air conditioning is plenty cool and she offers to get her water but Katya says no and her vulva pulses. Trixie quickly cups her, rubs up and down but avoids the urge to press in. Katya leaks between her fingers like a soaked sponge, moans about how wet she is. “Make all the noise you want, I love it,” Trixie encourages. She did recently get a note from a neighbor, laughed and threw it away like the garbage it was, never mentioned it. 

 

With the heel of her hand still on her, just below the plug’s handle, she gives her pussy a light slap. Katya rocks forward and makes a pleased little “uh!”, quietly asks her to do it again. The plug makes her more sensitive so it's easy. Trixie takes her hand all the way off and complies, lightly. Then again and again. She rubs her skin to soothe the sting. Katya asks for a little harder. She gives another, a little harder, a little harder, harder, then stops. Katya hangs her head and breathes easy as she rubs circles over her lower back. 

 

“Ugh, you have too much empathy,” Katya complains. “If I ever break it won't be your fault, I promise.” Trixie pats her softly, tapping all around her swollen, sopping skin. Despite protesting, Katya whispers little satisfactions at her touch. 

 

"We have time." The velvet between Trixie's legs is wet. The room smells sweet and damp. Katya's perfume has penetrated everything soft. "I'm not ready yet."

 

Katya turns around and sits back, pushes her hair behind her shoulder to look at Trixie. She looks concerned. 

 

“Can you move up? I wanna get closer.” Katya looks back to the headboard and inches up to it, hands over the top. Trixie slots in right behind her, knees around her calves, and takes her hips with one arm, reaches between them with the other. The bottoms of her breasts touch Katya's back. With the slightest pressure her middle fingers are absorbed, and her ring finger quickly goes alongside them with barely any effort. Katya rocks into them trying to find pressure and Trixie tries to shape and move her fingers just right. “Th—there ... you do it so good ... fucking pound me with it.” Trixie’s pinky fits now and it’s the only way she can feel any resistance at all. She pumps her hand and Katya moans with more breath than voice, and when Trixie's hips move with her Katya braces so hard against the headboard that her muscles pop along her arms and down her shoulders. The sound of fucking her grows into a splash, like a hand on a shallow puddle. Katya's body goes rigid for a few moments and then she's coming, sucking Trixie's hand against her over and over, coming with Trixie practically holding her in her hand, covering her. When she's wrung out completely, Trixie leans on the mattress all the way down and licks her up, finishing herself off through her underwear. She feels Katya's hand grip hers fiercely while she stays right there spread over her, opens herself up to give her more.

 

\--

 

Down in the kitchen, Trixie opens the fridge and digs out a green plastic bottle of aloe from behind dressings and condiments. She wonders if there's a better kind out there or if it expires. She’s had this same bottle for years.

 

The fridge is full. In the morning they could have most anything they usually like on a Sunday. During the week Katya makes lunches for Trixie to take to work and cooks or brings home dinner for them. She usually gets her own lunch out with Ginger, eats at home or picks it up somewhere along the way.

 

The fridge starts to beep and Trixie shuts it, aloe in hand. Upstairs she'll squeeze the icy, artificially green gel over Katya's shoulders, spread it to cool her freckled red skin until the heat comes through again, then she'll apply more. The summer has just started.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END ... I don’t know what to say, maybe because there’s still some meat left for the Epilogue??? Maybe because it's like 5pm on a Thursday and it seems like huh, okay.

**Author's Note:**

> mattepinkallshades on Tumblr, I adore interaction there and I’m also open to questions and concerns about content/tags. Anon mode is on :)


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